Aether
by Lokinne
Summary: When Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive became parents, they didn't expect one of their children would inherit his mother's illness. Angelina Durness does everything she can to help her sick nephew, but when her medical knowledge isn't enough, Vincent starts to consider other options. If only those were all his troubles. (Pre-1886, 2CT, no pairings) (C)Yana Toboso.
1. 11th October, 1885

The man let out a quiet sigh when he sat on the rich armchair. He caressed its velvet upholstery with distracted hands and took a deep breath. It was the third time that week that he was woken up by the hurried handmaiden, babbling something about his son being sick again. He looked down to his hands and started to play with a silver ring which rested in his left index. No, he should not show his worries in front of others, but he was beyond worried. He wasn't a pessimistic man at all, but his son had been sick since he was born and had inherited some of his mother's illnesses. One thing was to endure such pains when someone was a young woman, and another one to be just a child. He pressed his fingertips against his temples and tried to find a comfortable position. It looked like he had a very long night ahead.

* * *

"How is he?"

A blonde woman entered the room with haste, her blonde hair messy and half tied in a bun over his nape. She went to the bed and looked down to her son, a pale boy with bluish black hair who was having trouble breathing. He tried to sat on the bed, but fell back to the pillows placed behind his back struck by a heavy cough. The boy tried to stop the cough with his little hands, but it kept coming out muffled.

"He's been like this all the night, my Lady. I didn't know what to do exactly, so I called you."

"Does Vincent know?"

"Yes my Lady, the Earl is waiting in the next room for the doctor. Is there anything I can do?"

The woman sat in a chair next to the bed and looked at the handmaiden, a dark haired girl with a long braid down her back. She was clutching the white apron of her uniform and looking nervously at the sick child.

"Bring me a basin with fresh water and some clean towels."

"Mother?"

She held the little hand between hers and tried to compose a smile for her son.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I'm sorry to wa-" The boy was struck by another heavy cough, but that time he spat a little drop of blood on the handkerchief he was holding to cover his mouth. He sucked all the air he could, but it didn't reach the bottom of his lungs. "-Wake you up."

"Don't say that. It's my duty as your mother to take care of you."

The boy looked up at her with worry, his blue orbs seeming dull and half closed. He drew his knees to his stomach and managed to sit against the headboard of the bed. Maybe in that position he wouldn't cough so badly.

* * *

Vincent stood up when the door opened and a redheaded woman came in carrying a heavy black medical bag. She left it on top of a wooden table and placed her hands over her hips.

"Why didn't you call me earlier, Vincent? Is Rachel fine?"

"She's with him now, in the next room. I wanted to talk with you before you see him," said the nobleman with a warm smile. "Do you think he is going to be healthy someday? Or is this going to be like Rachel's case?"

The redheaded woman swallowed before she replied.

"It seems to be like her illness, probably he will be affected by it all his life. But we can look for the better remedy for him, worry not about that."

"I understand… Thanks, Angelina. You know how I despise to talk such themes with Rachel present. Now go check him, he's been in silence for ten good minutes."

Vincent opened the wooden panel and guided the woman to the next room. She picked up her medical bag and waited for him to open the door. The man let her in, searching for his wife in the room. Rachel was sitting next to the bed with a little basin full of cool water at her side. On the bed, covered in a noticeable amount of blankets and surrounded by soft pillows was his son, resting with a wheezing sound coming from his half parted lips.

"How are you feeling, sister?"

Rachel looked up from her lap to her sister and forced a smile.

"I've seen better nights. Can I stay with you this time?"

"I'm afraid you shouldn't… If he panics and you start to worry, it would only worsen the situation. You should rest for tonight, I can take care of it."

Angelina left her medical bag next to the bed and sat on its border, smiling at the half asleep child.

"Can you hear me? I'm going to need you to open up…"

* * *

The next morning, the Earl was woken by the hinges of the bedroom door. He opened his eyes slowly and closed them back letting out a quiet yawn. He turned to his left and faced the window. Even covered by the heavy curtains, the clear panels let the sunlight in, bathing the room in a cozy dim light. From the corner of his eyes he caught a little figure rushing to the curtains, but he ignored it for some seconds. Of course, the curtains _always_ had had little feet. At his side, his wife was starting to move with a soft sound of blankets.

"Is everything fine dear?"

Vincent smiled and brushed some bluish locks from his forehead, stretching his arms in the process.

"Our curtains have feet now, that's all", answered the man with a whispering tone. A little smile curved his lips when his wife let out a quiet chuckle.

"How is it? Maybe you should check them."

The earl smiled mischievously and rolled over his side, then he sat on the bed and got up all in a fluid motion. He took a couple of steps towards the window and grabbed the curtains, one in each hand, to open them. A little boy with bluish locks giggled while running to the bed, which he climbed in no time. He crawled under the covers and snuggled them as close as he could to Rachel.

"Ciel, what are you doing awake this earlier?"

"I couldn't sleep more. And he was sleeping again," the boy said with a pout on his lips. He sat on the mattress and rested his head against his mother's side. "Why is he sick all the time? I can't play with him like that and Sebastian is chasing cats…"

Vincent sat on the bed next to his son and his wife and patted the boy's head.

"You have to be patient, he is going to be fine, but he needs to rest."

"He's always resting, and sleeping, and all those things. Is he going to die, father?"

The man looked at his wife in the eye and hugged the little boy.

"Of course he is not, Ciel. Don't say such somber things. What do you think about going to check him and having some breakfast instead, hm?"

Ciel looked down to his lap and slipped under his father's arm, looking for comfort.

"Sounds fine to me, father."


	2. 12th October, 1885

Ciel Phantomhive was a good and patient child, at least the majority of the time. But that morning he was nervous because he had barely slept the last night. All because of his little brother. It wasn't like he didn't love him, but he had something bad and they couldn't spend together all the time he wanted. The boy shook his head and tried to understand the words of his private teacher, an elder man versed in mathematics. It wasn't a particularly hard lesson, but he had trouble focusing when he had his mind far away.

"And if you want to add that to the result, but you have... Are you listening to what I'm saying?"

The boy snapped from his doze and denied it with a shook of his head.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted."

"A little man of your importance should be more focused on his lessons," he scolded with a serious look while looking for his pocket watch. "Luckily for you we're over for today, but you should finish all your homework for the next day. Have a good day, Young Lord."

The old teacher started to pick up his things and shove them in a leather briefcase carefully, first the wooden abacus and then the huge math book he used to teach the boys. He placed his glasses in a correct position above the bridge of his nose and massaged his chin.

"I forgot to ask you, but how is your brother doing with his homework?"

"He's doing fine, sir," replied the boy closing his notebook and plugging the ink bottle he used to take notes. He didn't want to talk about him right then, so he shrugged and lied directly. He shouldn't lie to anyone, but he had spent all the day talking about him and he was somehow exhausted. _His brother this, his brother that_. He was worried, of course, but he mustn't show it. "He's struggling a bit with the complex calculus but I'll be able to explain it to him."

"I hope he gets better soon, is nice to have a couple of students like you two. Have a good morning, Young Lord."

Ciel followed him with his azure eyes until the man left the room and closed the wooden door. Then he looked down to his desk and let out a long sigh. Maybe he had sounded harsh when he had spoken to the old teacher, but he was tired. He wanted to be with his mother or his father, but they were busy with social meetings, one because of business and the other meeting with family friends. The boy placed the notebook, the ink bottle and the feather he used to write inside a drawer, and then proceed to get up to exit the room too. His eyes drifted to the gardens and he stood there a couple of minutes, just watching how the wind moved the treetops in a calm rhythm back and forth. Finally the boy moved, determined to look for Sebastian. The black Borzoi* dog must be somewhere near the entrance hall, so he headed there with haste and closed the bureau's door behind him. If his brother was feeling better in the evening, maybe they could play with Sebastian in the gardens, or inside if he wasn't that well, but at least…

* * *

He collided with a tall figure dressed in black and took several steps back with an apology already in his mouth. But when he opened it to start talking, the unknown person interrupted him with a loud chuckle.

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise. I thought you were sick today," said the person with a low pitched voice. "It seems to me that someone is where he's not supposed to, hm?"

Ciel looked to his feet, not very sure of how to answer that question. He raised his eyes and examined the stranger from hat to boots. The tall man patted his head with affection and let out a little chortle when he frowned his eyebrows.

"Worry not, I won't tell your father. He's pretty busy these days, but I'm afraid he will quarrel you anyway. If you are looking for your brother, I think he's taking lessons now, but I have no idea where…," he mused placing a black nail over his lips.

The boy raised an eyebrow with surprise. That man had mistaken him for his brother, but he wasn't in the mood for correcting him. Plus, knowing how shy was his brother, all his animosity sounded pretty weird to him. He limited to follow the conversation.

"I will look for him. I guess you have important things to discuss with my father, sir. If you excuse me…"

"Of course, of course. I should not hinder you, little Earl. I hope you get better soon."

The stranger tipped his hat with showmanship and kept walking down the corridor to the library, as Ciel finally discerned passed his initial perplexity. He turned around to check him better, but a long dark coat and a very long silvery mane told nothing to him. Definitely, it was the first time he saw him, at least as far as he could remember. He had another question for his brother when he regained his health.

* * *

Rachel was sitting in an armchair next to her sister, a redheaded woman called Angelina. They were having a light tea with pastries and they were chatting lively when the countess heard a bark. That dog _again_.

"Excuse me, sister," she said while she was standing up from the comfortable seat. "I wonder what is it this time."

"Probably Ciel is teasing him again." Angelina took a sip from her teacup and let the porcelain over its saucer. The woman picked up a pastry and bit it, humming with delight. "You have to tell me where do you order these ones, they are so delicious."

The blonde woman opened the door of the tea room just in time to see a black puddle running away from her, followed by a little child dressed in a white and blue suit.

"Ciel! Don't run inside the house!"

But her words fell on deaf ears when the boy turned the corner and disappeared from her sight, and she chugged closing the door. She turned to face his sister and went back to her seat.

"I'm glad to see how healthy he is, Rachel. He looks a lot like his father."

"You're right. Both are similar to him, it's just that Ciel is less quiet. He really is a troublemaker like his father."

Angelina laughed with her hand over her mouth, a clear and loud laughter filling the room.

"I wonder if they will be like him when they go to Weston, it would be really amusing," she said when she stopped laughing. She crossed her hands over her lap and looked outside the window.

Rachel smiled with satisfaction and took a pastry from the silver tray.

"And the good thing is that both are good students. I'd say that Ciel is better in math, but when it comes to literature… He likes it, but it's not really his strong point. We'll see how he does with history."

"Oh, but he's so young, he's just nine. Let the boy have some fun, he's got plenty of time to study and learn," Angelina replied with a wide smile.

* * *

He was feeling sick again, and he had just tried to turn over his side to accommodate a couple of pillows. If he could just go outside his room for a while… The boy managed to sit on the mattress and looked out the window to the gardens around the house. They looked so bright and warm, he would do anything to be able to play with Ciel and Sebastian. But he had to rest, his aunt had said. He pulled a little cord near the headboard and waited for some servant to attend his call. After some minutes, the family butler knocked and opened the door with a smile on his old features.

"Grandpa? I need some water."

He curled up in a tight ball and waited for the old servant to return. He knew he shouldn't call the old man "grandpa" nor other affectionate nicknames, but he really didn't care. The boy rolled over his side again and shifted his position, laying on his back. His blue eyes looked up to the high ceiling, finding figures in the shadows casted by the sunlight. Probably his brother would be angry with him, because when he was sick they couldn't expend all the time together as always. The door opened and he snapped out of his thoughts.

"I've fetched the water you asked, little Lord. Do you need something else?"

"Open the window, please."

The butler was an old man with british accent and slightly japanese features, which could be only recognizable in his eyes. He walked to the bed and left a silver trail with a jar of crystalline water on top of the nightstand. Once he had helped the little boy to sat against the headboard, he served him a glass of water and waited for him to finish it. He opened the curtains to let the light inside the room and opened the window panel. Then the boy cleared his throat and left the glass on the trail.

"Can you call Ciel? I don't know if he is busy but I want to see him. I know that father and mother are busy right now, so…," a pout formed on his lips, but he shook his head and looked up to the old servant. "I don't want to annoy them, that's all."

"As you wish, little Lord. I'll be back in no time."

When Tanaka left the room the boy served himself another glass of water and swallowed it carefully. The last thing he wanted was another interminable cough just because he swallowed wrong. His eyes drifted to the open window and he let out a tired sound, like a high pitched moan. The sun bathed the gardens and a light breeze entered the room, bringing with it a dozen of different smells, from wet dirt to fresh flowers. Luckily Ciel would bring Sebastian with him.

* * *

* Borzoi dogs were introduced in Britain in the 1800's as a gift to the Queen Victoria from the Tsar Alexander III of Russia.


	3. 13th October, 1885

Angelina climbed the staircase as faster as she could be carrying a heavy bag in her arms. The woman turned left and didn't wait to be invited, she just opened the door with haste. A couple of loose red locks fell over her face, but she had better things to take care for, like her ill nephew. His parents were sitting in a couple of cozy chairs near the bed and had a worried look on their faces.

"Get out, please. The more, the worse. It'll only make him more nervous." The doctor didn't lose a second and started to search inside her medical bag for the utensils she needed, leaving them on top of a nearby wooden trolley. From the corner of her eyes she kept watching over the child, who couldn't stop coughing and wheezing. Hurried, Angelina took a clean napkin and got close to him just when he threw up. The boy gagged and started to breath even faster, muttering apologies between deep inhalations.

"I can clean it, worry not," stated the woman with a calm voice. She needed to reassure the boy that everything was fine, even if it wasn't. She took a clean little basin and left it near the trembling child. "If you need to throw up again or spit do it there."

Meanwhile, she started to gather little bottles and mix up their contents in a cup of water. Most of them were herbal extracts, drugs to be fair, but they will help him. She started to infuse them in the water, but she needed something to warm it up. She pulled a nearby cord and waited. In an everlasting minute, a young maiden opened the door with a worried look on her young face.

"I need some boiling water, hurry."

The only thing she could do while waiting for her return was to check the boy. She took a stethoscope and placed a hand over the first button of his nightgown.

"Do you mind if I remove it?" It was a silly question, whether or not the boy cared, she had to do it, but waited a few seconds until he nodded, muffling his heavy coughs with his hand.

Angelina pressed the instrument against the pale skin and listened carefully - there it was, a gurgling sound from the liquid inside his lungs. She would have to cause him to cough more and puke… The redheaded woman shook her head and drew a fingertip to her chin, thinking. One thing was to cause all that process in an adult patient, and another far different to provoke all that in a child. But what else could she do? She was just an obstetrician with general medical knowledge, it was just because of her sister's illness that she had started to gather all the information she could about respiratory problems… But it was as clear as water that it wasn't enough.

"This is going to be a bit harsh, dear…"

* * *

An hour and half later the doctor came out, closing the door in silence behind her. She walked with a slow pace until she reached the next room where her sister and his husband were waiting, and she took a deep breath with her hand on top of the doorknob. Finally, Angelina raised her head and walked in. Both parents got up at unison, but it was Vincent who started to spoke.

"How is he?"

"Sleeping now. I… I need to talk to you, Vincent."

Rachel opened her blue eyes with worry and stared at her sister, her delicate hands grasping his husband's arm so tight that her knuckles had turned white.

"Is he alright? Don't you dare to hide anything from us, Angelina."

She only used that harsh tone when she was really shaken by something, the doctor knew that very well thanks to years of growing together. Composing her brightest smile, she caressed the countess' arm.

"Yes, darling. You don't have to worry, but I might talk with Vincent now, I swear I'll tell you later. But I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily," said the woman with a calm tone. Rachel replied with a sour pout and was about to add something bitter, not because she meant it but because of her nerves, but Vincent placed an arm over her shoulders, embracing her. Angelina looked away, giving the couple some sort of intimacy despite their closeness.

"Alright, I shall wait with Ciel in his room. The poor boy must be worried, these kind of things don't do anything good for his character."

With those words, Rachel walked outside the room, leaving her husband and her sister alone. Vincent sat in a couch and invited Angelina to do the same with a hand gesture.

"What did you have to tell me? Is it that important?"

"Maybe. I just didn't want to worry her more, these issues aren't good for her health. The last thing she needs is another anxiety episode…" She licked her lips to keep them wet and swallowed as she looked for the better way to say it. Her fingers placed a couple of red strands of hair behind her ear and she exhaled. Suddenly, the dark green room didn't seem as calming as it was supposed to thanks to its wall paint."I don't know if I'm going to be able to treat him. It's getting worse each time. I know that you trusted me to do this, because other doctors had been useless in the past… But this goes beyond my knowledge. I-I help women to give birth, I have general medical notions, but your son doesn't have a simple winter cold."

The earl had been playing with the ring resting on his index finger all the time, munching his sister-in-law words. She was right in all of it, but he had ran out of options. The doctors he knew even thanks to his connections didn't knew a lot about the matter, and the few ones who did rested all their solutions on drugs. _Special medicine_ , they called it, but one thing was to give those doses to his wife, an adult woman, and a very different one was to give them to his eight year old son. The man massaged his nose bridge and closed his almond eyes. Angelina studied his expression and cleared her throat before she spoke again.

"Vincent, I'll do whatever I can, you know it. But there are things outside my abilities, and I am afraid this is one of those things. I'll keep treating him like I've been doing, with herbs, infusions and vapors…"

"I know, I know."

"But if you can, try to locate someone who can do more. I'm not saying that something horrible will occur if we don't treat him better, it's just that… He's my nephew, and I love him as much as I love Ciel. I don't want to lose any of them." She gathered a tear with her index and cleaned it on her dress. "Let's go check him before he falls asleep."

* * *

The afternoon light made it's way into the house, flowing from every gap it could, bathing the manor in mute golden tones. A distant clock gave the six o'clock reverberating around the silent house, upsetting the drowsy child who was sat on a couch in the library. He stretched his limbs and yawned, covering his mouth with his hand in a reflex motion. Rubbing his eyelids with tight fists, Ciel put his feet on the ground. At first the enormous room seemed strange to him, but after some seconds the boy recognized the place. The light fell from the windows to his surroundings, giving them a dreamy aura, and the boy yawned again. Then he started to walk towards the door: he had to check on his brother, his sick and fragile brother. The wooden panel closed behind him with a loud click and he jolted, frightened out of nowhere. His shoes tapped the rich carpets that covered the floor, and after some turns he ended up in front of his brother's bedroom. Ciel knocked the door twice and waited for some answer, but he got none. Maybe his brother was still asleep?

"Can I go in?"

The silence was oppressive, and despite the warm light bathing him, Ciel shuddered nervous when a cold sensation traveled down his spine. The white suit had started to stick to his body because of the cold sweat fueled by his fears. But, he tried to calm himself, if something bad had happened, his parents would have told him. The little heir took a deep breath and turned the doorknob until the door opened slowly. Inside, there was only darkness. His brother used to sleep without any light, because even the little amount would awake him.

"Are you alright, brother?"

The door closed behind him and the boy gulped, taking step after step with increased caution. When he made his way to the bed, he frowned his features. The other boy was pale, far more pale than the usual, and apparently he wasn't breathing. What if he was the first one to notice it? What if it was too late? His skin was cold, too cold.

"Father! Mo…!"

* * *

"Shh… Ciel, darling, it was just a nightmare."

The boy opened his eyes and sat on the bed too fast, causing him to see the room spinning around. His father was sitting at his side, caressing his forehead with sweetness. The man removed some bangs from his forehead covered in sweat and gifted him with a big, warm smile.

"Dad? What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock. You were screaming in dreams… Are you fine?"

Vincent got closer to his son's face and fixed his almond eyes in every detail, from his big blue eyes full of expression to his hair always parted to the left. The earl placed a kiss on his forehead and caressed his cheek with his palm.

"I can't sleep alone, can I have Sebastian tonight with me?

"Only if you promise me to not let him on top of the bed. You know that your mother doesn't like it."

The boy made a pout and a little smile illuminated his face.

"I promise, he will sleep on the carpet. Dad, can you check him later?"

"As you wish. I'll be here in no time, darling."

Ciel nodded and Vincent left the room in silence, leaving the door half closed. The boy covered with the sheets until only his eyes and nose were visible, like it was a soft and impenetrable cocoon. His eyelids started to close, and when his father was back he had already fallen in a deep slumber. The earl of Phantomhive smiled and patted the black dog's head, earning an affectionate lick on his hand. The animal walked obediently to the carpet at the bed's feet and sat there, watching over the sleeping child.


	4. 15th October, 1885

Darkness. If he closed his eyes, he could have sworn that he saw better than with them open. There was no floor nor ceiling. No walls. Just darkness all over the place, but it wasn't oppressive. His feet felt wet as if he was stepping on something sticky, like watered mud. His nostrils wrinkled when he caught a scent of burnt wood, but when he looked around he didn't find anything burning.

"Mother? Father?" his little voice echoed in the void. "Ciel?"

The only reply he earned was a chortle behind him, and a distant rush of feathers. The child froze in place as soon as he noticed that it wasn't the first time he had had that dream.

"... _Nescis quid serus vesper vehat_ …" *

* * *

He jolted and sat on the bed, the sheets around him wrapping his little body in a soft but stressful mess. His hands parted the fabrics and he struggled to maintain his breath steady and calm. It was just another nightmare, a silly dream, he knew it too well. Soft paws tapped the polished wood and the child extended his arms to circle the dog's head. The borzoi stood in silence, letting the boy pet him and run his fingers over his soft fur until he calmed down. Then the animal stared at him in silence, letting out a quiet yawn.

"It's nothing, I had a bad dream."

The child coughed softly and smiled to the dog in the darkened room. Sebastian wasn't supposed to be allowed to sleep with him or Ciel, but he didn't want to cross all the corridor to wake his parents up, even less because of a dream. He scratched the dog behind his ears and patted the mattress near him.

"Here!", he commanded in a whisper. Once the dog laid on top of the bed he proceed to tuck the sheets in place and covered with them around his shoulders. He didn't want to sleep yet, but it was a bit cold that night. He sniffled and extended his pale hands to scratch the dog, receiving some affectionate licks on his fingers. The child giggled and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. Slowly and reticently, his eyelids started to close and he curled in a tight ball under the sheets, listening to the dog's breath. The animal was a good companion of nightmares, after all. It wasn't like he couldn't wake up his brother or his parents, but he was bothersome enough being sick all the time.

* * *

The curtains flew around with an fluid movement and flowed back to their place, moved only a couple of feet. The sunlight bathed his face and he groaned with disgust, covering his eyes with the sheets.

"Wake up! How are you feeling today?"

He poked out of the sheet nest and stared at the other blue eyed child. They were so look alike and yet so different… Ciel was always smiling and playing around, but him… Well, he wasn't as much as he would like to.

"Mother said she would order Tanaka something special for breakfast, but we have to be together to try it, hurry up!"

The mention of something sweet to eat made his stomach growl and the little boy blushed, sitting on the bed and removing the sheets. At some time Sebastian must had left because he was nowhere to be seen, but the boy didn't think about it too much. His older brother was already at the doorway with a foot outside the dorm, waiting with his thin eyebrows frowned but smiling widely. The child combed his hair with his fingers and put on some slippers and cotton pants before following him down the corridor to the dinner room. He really hoped it was something sugary to wipe away the bitter night. The boy stopped his tracks when they crossed the hallway near the staircase and looked down to the main door, which Tanaka was holding open to let someone in.

"Hey the breakfast isn't going to eat itself!"

He snapped and looked away from the black puddle of whoever was entering the house and followed Ciel around the sunbathed hall, hurrying a little to catch him and letting out a yawn. Yes, something sugary was just what he needed.

* * *

Vincent had just dismissed the family butler, and was sitting in silence in front of his desk. The sun bathed the rich wood from the windows behind him and gave the room a warm look, something he welcomed shifting his weight on the chair before he signed another paper. The company he ran was going well, with its products being well known and praised by the customers, and his Watchdog duties were being carried to an end by Diederich now that he was busy with his family. He really could trust the German man, after all they knew each other since they attended to Weston. The Earl lit a candle and reached for the wax deposit to seal a letter, but the little jar was nowhere to be seen in the first couple of drawers. He got up and walked to a cabinet at his left between two shelves and opened the wooden panels, frowning his features a bit. Some knocks on the door surprised him since he wasn't waiting for any visit that earlier.

"Yes?"

A knock on the door was followed by the voice of the old butler muffled behind the door. "You have a visit, my Lord. Shall I let them in? They are waiting in the main hall."

"Who is it?"

"Lord Diederich."

Vincent found the wax container and closed the cabinet.

"Go get him and come in."

"Understood, my Lord."

He took some wax with a silver spoon and melted it slowly with the candle, thinking while he was doing so. Maybe Diederich needed some guidances on the current case, but they had arranged a meeting the next Saturday night when he could tell him anything about it, so it had to be important. After sealing the letter with some melted wax and his family crest, Vincent put some order on his desk and sat on the chair with a tired sigh. At least he had had some minutes of peace alone.

* * *

"I can't stand him, how am I supposed to get him to collaborate?"

Diederich took a finger sandwich from the silver trail and bit it, then he rested his back against the velvet couch and took a deep breath from his nose as he munched. Vincent, sitting in front of him, let out a chuckle and sipped his tea to disguise his amusement. The german stared at him with exasperation and finished the little treat, cleaning his fingers with a nearby napkin.

"After all these years one would have thought you had learned some tricks by now, Dee," sentenced the Earl leaving the cup on its saucer. He removed some dark blue bangs from his face and placed them behind his ear, humming to himself. "So basically you are asking me to take care of the situation."

"I'm not saying that, Vincent, it's just that he gets on my nerves, I don't know how you can stand him."

"Because he's useful, that's why I keep everyone. Well, you are my best friend so you are the exception, but when it comes to informants I just keep some of them close. I have to guard my back, if you know what I mean. One never knows."

The other man took another sandwich and held it between his lips as he reached for something inside his pockets under Vincent's curious gaze. The Earl tapped the arms of the armchair with his slender fingers and started to play with his silver ring, not because he was nervous but because it had become a custom of him whenever he was thinking too much about something. When Diederich handed him a wrinkled letter he teared it from his warm hands and stood up to search for a letter opener around his desk. When he found it, he teared the paper easily and left the empty envelope on top of the desk.

"That's a document about an escaped criminal from Germany, the authorities say they had flew to England on their way to North America."

"So you want me to collaborate with this case too. You know we're already involved in one about disappeared infants, the other case about that human trafficking network in the chinese docks with illegal immigrants… And there's the organ market we dismantled a week ago."

Diederich frowned his thick eyebrows and sipped his tea.

"Yes, we have to work on this one too. That's why we need his help, and that's why I came to you. You seem to be the only one able to work with him."

The Earl composed a smirk and put the letter inside its envelope, and proceed to save it on one of the desk's drawers. The german man didn't stand all of his informants, for sure, starting with Randall and ending up with Undertaker. It was true that the peculiar mortician enjoyed to push people's buttons and tickle them all the time to the point of annoyance, but Vincent would never admit in high voice how amused he was too whenever the funeral director decided to tease Diederich. His friend was a loyal one, but he was too serious all the time, and that was his weak point. So he understood perfectly why he was asking him to go and take care of the situation. Vincent sat on the couch again and took his teacup.

"But… how is Rachel? And the kids? I'm too absorbed with all these works to ask you about them, damn it."

"We've seen better times but, as always, we're trying our best. Rachel is fine, at her health peak I'd say, but…" Diederich bit another finger sandwich of smoked salmon and waited for him to continue, worried when the Earl's face darkened. The man dismissed his worries with a hand flourish and sipped his tea before he kept talking. "It's the young one, he's got the same illness as Rachel and he's so thin and fragile all the time. I'm worried, Dee."

"I understood that Angelina was treating him well."

"And she does, she does." Vincent left the empty tea cup in the table and hovered his hand over the finger sandwiches displayed in a silver tray. He picked a cheese one and took a bite before he continued. He wasn't especially hungry, but he needed to eat. He cleaned his fingers with a napkin and pinched the bridge of his thin nose. "She says it's not enough, what she knows, the methods she uses. Angelina is versed in general medicine but theirs is not a regular illness. The rest of the doctors I've contacted recur too much to heavy drugs for my taste. I mean, I'm not a doctor, but if it's a sickness of their lungs what good can come from smoking opium **, Dee? No, there must be something else."

The young man scratched his chin in a thoughtful manner as his friend talked. He didn't knew anyone in the Old Continent, and being in the military his network was vast and varied. He shifted his position on the couch and rested his hands on the soft upholstery.

"You are a man of many cards, Vincent. I'm sure there's something you can find around. Didn't some of our colleagues from Weston studied medicine?"

"I've tried with them too, and with no avail. But you are right," he straightened in his seat and composed a thin smile. "Everything goes back to their place sooner or later, I'll fetch something."

"Speaking of them, can I see them? I'd like to say hi to Rachel as well, if she's nor busy."

Vincent smiled wide and got up from his chair. He smoothed some wrinkles on his waistcoat and went to the bell panel near his desk. There were several bell cords around the house, all of them connected to a panel in the servant's ale, and he pulled the one on his bureau. He turned on his heels and faced Diederich.

"You? Who's so grumpy? I don't want you to scare the children, Dee. All Hallows Eve is still weeks ahead."

The german man frowned, but a smile appeared on his lips and he laughed out loud. He picked the remnant sandwich on the trail and finished it in two bites. The Earl left the room and a servant entered after him. The young maiden started to pick up the cups and plates on the table with a respectful nod to the Earl's friend. Diederich tilted his head back, then followed his friend with long steps, still chuckling to himself.

* * *

* _Nescis quid serus vesper vehat_ is a Latin proverb meaning "You don't know what nightfall/late evening may bring". It doesn't carry necessary a negative meaning, nor it's a bad omen by itself.

** Opium was used to treat asthma, rheumatism and stomach illnesses due to its properties. It was recommended to smoke it to relieve lung pains, but it was also dispensed in tablets mixed with alcohol. Those tablets were burned in a little pan placed over a kerosene lamp, like a vaporizer. Smoking tobacco and other substances was commonly used to treat respiratory diseases in the second half of the century. Opium tablets were highly popular around 1890, for example.


	5. 24th October, 1885, pt 1

Saturday evening came faster than he was expecting, but it was easy to lose the notion of time when he was asleep the majority of the days. The last night he had managed to sleep without coughs or nightmares, and his mood was far better than the other days. In the morning, Vincent had sat him and Ciel in the bureau to help them with their lessons. He dreaded maths, but at least he was good in literature. In his brother's case, it was the opposite. After that they had went to the gardens to play with Sebastian, all under their mother's stare. She was worried about him, he could tell by the soft brown circles under her bright eyes, but if she had been troubled she hadn't shown it. The boys had ended up dirtying their uniforms and earning a scold from Rachel, but the family borzoi had received the worst part of the mud battle they had started. Once they had changed their clothes and the servants had bathed the dog, he and Ciel had went to the library. And there were they when one of the manor tall clocks gave seven chimes.

"What are you doing?"

He lifted his eyes from the book and peered at Ciel, who was sitting in a nearby couch swinging his legs back and forth. Great, he was bored. He placed a cloth bookmark between the pages.

"Reading."

"Don't you want to do anything else?

"Like what?"

Ciel looked at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression and kept waving his legs. His eyes drifted to his little brother and fixed on the book.

"I don't know. What is it about?"

"Tales. I thought you didn't like to read."

"I like it, but I don't want now."

"You don't have to be with me all the time if you are bored."

The child opened the book again to resume his lecture, but his older brother rushed to him and took the book from his hands.

"Hey!"

"You are not supposed to read those, father told you. You have nightmares when you do." he noted when he read the title.

"That's not true, I don't have nightmares" replied as he looked away. Vincent had scolded him more than once when he had discovered him reading those tales, but it wasn't his fault. Poe's works were nice, and he didn't understood why he couldn't read whatever he liked. "Give it back."

Ciel smiled and placed the book behind his back.

"I won't tell him, I promise. But what is all the fuss about this?" he asked as he opened the book from its mark and read it out loud. "'And the evening closed in upon me thus-and then the darkness came, and tarried, and went -and the day again dawned -and the mists of a second night were now gathering around -and still I sat-' *"

"Brother please."

"Fine," mumbled the child as he returned the book to his brother. Ciel huffed and went back to his seat. "After you finish that one, will you come outside?"

He mused about it while he sat near his older brother and opened the book on his lap again. Sure, some fresh air would be welcome… He casted a glance at the windows at their back. The weather was clear for Autumn and it wasn't too cold, yet it was near sunset and he doubted they could go outside.

"Maybe mother won't let us to go to the gardens."

"I'm not talking about the gardens, I'm talking about the lower floor."

"We can't go there…"

Ciel placed his hands on the soft upholstery and straightened his back getting closer to his brother.

"We are _not supposed_ to go there."

* * *

Tanaka was checking his pocket watch from time to time, giving orders around and keeping an eye on the bell panel. Quarter past seven o'clock. All at the same time. The old butler wore a tailored suit decorated with the family crest and his white hair was perfectly combed in place. Everything had to be arranged for the dinner and the later reunion. The guests hadn't arrived yet and that gave him some time to finish little details. He went to the main hall and checked his pocket watch again, leaving the turmoil of the servant's ale at his back. His eyes scanned the place looking for something out of place, like… The children had left the family dog free again, and there was the animal, his pitch black eyes fixed on him behind a white console table. Tanaka casted him a stern look and the borzoi yawned at him, turning with elegance and disappearing behind a nearby door. Behind him the doorbell ringed and he hurried to the door. His gloved hand opened the rich panel and he curved his lips in a warm smile.

"Good evening, mister Randall. The Earl and the Countess are waiting in the dinning room, I shall lead you there. Can I have your coat, sir?"

The Scotland Yard chief took off his hat and coat and gave them to the diligent butler, forcing a smile on his lips.

"Thanks, Tanaka. Am I the first arriving?"

"Yes, sir. Punctual as always." The old man folded the coat over his arm and took the hat he was offered. He left the clothes in a nearby wardrobe and guided the man to the dining room. "For dinner, we'll start with some light entrées, the first dish is Mulligatawny Soup, followed by fish or meat, at the guest's preference."

Randall followed him with some nods and hums. Good for him that he had had a light tea earlier.

* * *

Ciel swung his legs back and forth. Back, and forth again, being careful to not kick any of the guests despite the width of the table. At his right, his brother was moving the vegetables around his plate with a bored expression on his features. It was comfortable to know he wasn't the only one bored. Around them the adults chattered and laughed, talking about parties, travels to the countryside, or even to the Continent. He wanted to hear more stories about Diederich, but the german man was busy talking with his father in a low tone. Vincent sat at the head of the table, with Rachel at his right and Diederich at his left. His brother and him sat near Rachel, and following his father's friend was Randall, a man who was always frowning even when he laughed and who sported a brown mustache which joined his sideburns. Next to him was the man he had encountered some days ago, and who he had forgot to ask his brother about. He gave him chills with his odd appearance, but if his father had invited him he must be important. When he caught him staring from the other side of the table, the man grinned wide and Ciel looked away. Damn it.

"Don't you like the dish, Young Earl?"

The boy kept swinging his legs and turned his eyes back to him. He didn't understand how his brother stood him.

"It's fine, but I'm not hungry, sir."

"Eating is important for you two, now that you are so young. I won't like to fetch a cof-" he let out a distorted giggle and tilted his head when Rachel glared at him. "Excuse me, milady. Those aren't themes to be discussed at a dinner table."

Next to him, his brother let out a low giggle, and Ciel couldn't help but smirk. It was nice to see his little brother in a good mood, even if it was because of that stranger. The man noticed it and covered his mouth with one hand to muffle a laughter.

"Behave, you three. Undertaker, sir, you shouldn't make that sort of… jokes." Rachel took a sip of her glass and cleaned her mouth with delicacy. She left the napkin on her lap and looked at her sons. "You had eaten almost nothing, are you feeling well?"

"Yes, mother."

The two boys replied at unison, and Ciel stuffed his mouth with some peas and carrots. His brother left his plate as it was, focused on looking around him to the other guests. Soon, his own eyes followed his gaze. Next to Undertaker, if it was his name, was a chinese man dressed in dark green. At Ciel's side sat another woman dressed in blue whose name he didn't remember, but she wasn't english judging by her accent. Ciel had seen her talking a lot of times with his mother, yet he couldn't remember her name. The little boy cleaned his mouth with his napkin and casted another glance at his brother. Everything was fine.

* * *

He wasn't sure about the plan, it had flaws all around. Yet when his brother had an idea, they had to do it. After the dinner they had been taken upstairs by a maiden, and their parents had remained in the dining hall. Ciel was sitting in his bed next to him.

"What if they check your room?"

"They won't."

"And if they check mine? Mother always comes at midnight."

"We'll just have to wait."

"What if I'm tired?"

Ciel looked at him with determination and brushed his hand with his palm. He was always so warm, and his own skin felt cold. It was because of his illness, he was sure.

"You won't."

"And what about Sebastian?"

"Are you really planning on taking him with us?"

He shrugged his shoulders and laid on his back next to Ciel.

"He never barks, so why not."

"Who was him?" asked the boy turning his back to face his brother. The other child was looking at the ceiling, his blue eyes glimmering in the room bathed by a lamp on the nightstand.

"Who?"

"The weird man from the dinner. I found him the last week but I forgot to ask you about him. He mistook me for you when I was walking around the house."

"Ah, Undertaker. He's a mortician. He knows father for a long time, it seems."

"Have you talked with him? You are always so shy."

"Well, he caught me reading once in the library. Father had arranged a visit with him and he was wandering around, and I was returning a book I was not supposed to be reading. But he didn't tell father and it saved me a scold."

Ciel laid at his side and stared at the ceiling too. It was weird for his brother to be talkative towards anyone outside the family circle.

"I see. I don't think I like him."

"He's scary, yet he's funny too."

"But mother doesn't like his jokes" sentenced Ciel as he crossed his hands over his stomach. It would hurt later, he had ended up having two portions of dessert and he was already regretting it. "By the way, where did you see Sebastian for the last time?"

"Around the hall, wandering around."

"If you want him to come, we should go get him first. He looked funny covered in mud."

His brother chortled in response. The child got up when a distant grandfather clock gave three chimes. Quarter to twelve.

"We should be going, we have fifteen minutes."

* * *

* Taken from the horror tale "Berenice" by Edgar Allan Poe. It was published for the first time in the Southern Literary Messenger paper, in 1835.


	6. 24th October, 1885, pt 2

Right, straight, left. The boys hid behind the corner when they heard a door closing ahead of them and waited for the footsteps to be further and further from them. Ciel smiled at him and looked down at Sebastian. The dog licked his snout and tilted his ears trying to catch more sounds, and the boy tensed his muscles. He and his brother wore the suits they had wore at the dinner, but bad buttoned and disheveled. After the maiden had closed the door of their dorms, both boys had rushed to take the pajamas off and they had met at Ciel's room.

"Someone's coming."

"Whoever it was just left, the steps sounded far away."

"Ciel, I think this is a bad idea."

"If you say that too much you will give us bad luck" replied in a hushed tone. He flattened his suit the best he could and ran his fingers through his hair. "Come on, aren't you curious about what they talk about?"

"Yes. But I don't want to earn a punishment for it."

"Don't be silly. Now, let's go."

The boy took his young brother's hand and dragged him down the hallway until they reached the staircase. The hall was dessert and Tanaka was nowhere to be seen. That was a good omen. They started to climb down the staircase with steady feet, the last thing they needed was a stupid slip. Once they reached the bottom, Ciel guided him to their right.

"Remember the way to the cellar?"

* * *

"Of course."

"-have nothing to do with it, milord. My company doesn't traffic with people."

"-just weighing options, there's no need to feel attacked, Lau."

Some steps and the low thud of someone sitting down. Ciel pressed his back against the wall and looked to his brother. The boy was crouched at his side and was focused on catching more words.

"-human trafficking is not allowed if it's not regulated. Your others activities can be easily used to-"

"Enough, Randall."

"But, Vinc-"

The door opened and someone stepped outside, and the two children froze in place. What if someone saw them? They hid the better they could behind a nearby table with a decorative vase on top and held their breaths.

"Undertaker, you can't just leave. We're in the middle of a conversation."

Due to the opened panel, the hall was bathed in a dim warm light and the voices were clearer. The boys took a peep from their improvised hideout with curiosity.

"We're in the middle of a mere prattle, Earl. All of you just throw accusations against each other with nothing more than assumptions to back them."

His voice sounded different from the tone he had used in the dinner. More low, slightly menacing, and not a single squawk.

"Watch your mouth, deadlover."

The man let out a low gurgling sound far different from his usual chuckles.

"Maybe if you and your divisions were more competent I'd have less work to do…"

"Enough, you two. We're all adults, for God's sake." Vincent's voice distilled fatigue and the two children looked at each other with worry. "We need to focus, and see what we can do about these problems."

The mortician bent and placed his hand in the doorknob with a smirk on his lips.

"Give me some minutes."

"I haven't give you permission to-"

The door was slammed and its echo reverberated through the hall, cutting the Earl mid-sentence and leaving the place in silence. Mumbled voices started to rise inside the room, but Ciel had better things to do. Like avoid being caught. He poked his head again and watched the tall man pacing around in long steps, until he rested his back against the wall and made a sound of disapproval. His brother shifted his position and almost pushed him, but Ciel regained his stability on time. If the adult didn't leave soon, they would be in trouble.

* * *

"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

Undertaker tilted his head to his right and fixed his eyes on a nearby console table. His hands started to play with the long braid he wore behind his right ear, coiling it around his fingers.

"I know you two are there, but you better go upstairs soon. It's funny that you're not afraid of the witches' hour."

Ciel and his brother shared a concerned look, then moved slowly from their hiding spot. The younger one placed a hand on top of Sebastian's head when the dog let out a low snarl from his throat.

"We were just…"

"I don't care. I won't tell your father. The Earl has bet-" He did a dismissive flourish with his right hand and halted in the middle of his talk. He turned to the door seconds before it was opened from the inside.

"You can't just disappear whenever-"

While Undertaker was entering the room with some apology on his mouth, he tugged Ciel's arm with worry.

"We need to leave, now."

* * *

The Earl stood in the main hall in silence, his fingers pinching his nose bridge with a worried expression. The reunion had been a mess, Randall wasn't collaborative at all about the human trafficking case, but at least Diederich had got him to collaborate in the missing criminal search. Tanaka was holding the main door opened for Lau, who was chatting with him about the dinner. Vincent peered at his side when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

"If you worry too much, you are going to get wrinkles all over your face. I don't think Rachel will like it."

A smile softened his features and the Earl took a deep breath from his nose, then released it from his mouth. He faced the mortician, who was putting on his heavy coat, and gestured with one hand to stop him.

"I have something else to discuss with you, are you in a hurry?"

"I have no clients tonight, Earl. If this was Christmas I'd be wrapping a lot of presents, but I've ran out of luck" commented the tall man with a mischievous smile on his lips. He took off the coat and handed it to Tanaka, who had just closed the door. Undertaker fixed his eyes on Vincent and drew a finger to his mouth. He pricked one of his long nails on the skin and shifted his weight. "What's the matter?"

"Let's get back to the meeting room. It's important."

The mortician followed him in silence with languid movements, his long robes and hair waving behind him. He nodded politely to Tanaka when the old man passed by them on his way to the servants ale, then fixed his hidden eyes on Vincent's back. The Phantomhive family had always been a worried one.

* * *

"It's about my son."

Vincent was sat in his favorite couch near the fireplace, where some bright embers casted a flickering light over the room. Undertaker rested his arms on the back of the rich seat and looked down to the almost extinct flames.

"He looked lively tonight. How is he doing?"

"Some days ago he had another episode. Angelina doesn't know what to do. I've talked with lots of doctors, with no solution. They always rely on drugs, and he's too young for them…"

His voice faded in a tense silence and Undertaker let out a hum of understanding. He placed a hand tentatively on top of the Earl's shoulder. Vincent sunk in his seat but said nothing: he was tired.

"I'm no doctor, I don't work with the living, Earl."

"But you know lots of things. I thought you could help him somehow."

"Have you tried aether solutions?"

"Yes, and they do little to nothing."

The mortician moved his hand to the other's man forearm and applied some pressure. Vincent didn't move away, he was accustomed to those kind of gestures from him. It wasn't like he minded them at all, if he was honest. He slouched on his seat and cleared his throat, but Undertaker talked before him.

"I can try, yet I can't promise any results" his voice sounded low and reassuring as he talked, his eyes still fixed in the fireplace in front of them. "Let's see how he evolves first."

The young man got up and started to walk in circles around the room. He stopped a feet from the mortician and frowned.

"It's my son whom we are talking about! I don't want to wait until he has another episode, I want to avoid them the best I can!"

Undertaker composed a smile and moved a feet away from him, tilting his head and crouching his shoulders. When he talked, his voice sounded cold.

"There's no need for shouting."

"I'm sorry. It's just… I don't know" replied Vincent averting his eyes to the embers. He started to fidget with his ring and straightened his back. "I apologize."

"Don't be so stern, it's normal for a father to worry about his offspring. You have my word, Earl."

Vincent went to the door and opened the panel, not after he had pulled a nearby cord. Tanaka would take care of the fireplace. The hall was sunk in shadows and he decided to wait for the butler to go upstairs. His nerves were on verge all the time, and he didn't know if he could handle the pressure. Behind him, Undertaker was inspecting his nails with a relaxed posture against the rich chair where he had sat minutes ago. He looked up and smiled to the Earl, and for the first time in months, Vincent shivered with worry.


	7. 26th October, 1885

Angelina arrived exactly at five o'clock. The red haired woman stood in front of the staircase to the main door, one of her hands carrying a medical bad and the other clutched over the buttons of her coat. At her back, the carriage that had brought her there started to leave. The last night she had barely slept due to a heavy downpour, and she had decided to give her insomnia a good use. So she had spent the hours reading her medicine books, researching all she could about respiratory affections. It had been useless because she hadn't found anything new, and yet she had read all the information at her reach. The light brown marks under her eyes were well hidden with a little makeup; one thing less to worry about. She climbed the staircase with fast steps, then took a couple of seconds to calm down. It was just a routine check on her nephew, nothing more than that. The past days the boy had shown a great recovery. But her sister had requested a check on him anyways, and she had agreed. Her gloved hand knocked the door three times and she waited for one of the servants to open it while the wind moved her coat around. The fall weather wasn't the best thing for her sister's and her nephew's health.

* * *

Rachel was sitting on a two seater sofa in one of the tea rooms of the house. The woman wore a green simple dress with long sleeves and scarce decorations. She drew a finger along the neck of it and rested her back on her seat. Before her, in a silver tray placed over a low table, were a jar of water and a half empty glass. She drew a napkin to her mouth when a cough shook her without warning, and Rachel frowned her thin blonde eyebrows. Outside of the manor, the wind moved the treetops of the nearby forest and shook the cut bushes around the gardens. It wasn't that she didn't like that weather, she plainly _dreaded_ it. Not for her own health because she was an adult, but for her younger son. Someone knocked at the door and she turned her head.

"Lady Angelina is already here, madam. Shall we come in?"

"Yes, yes. Thanks, Harriet."

The door opened and a brown haired woman moved to let Angelina inside. Rachel stood up and went to her sister, embracing her in a tight hug.

"How are you today, Rachel? What a bad weather we suffered the last night, it rained cats and dogs."

"Don't tell me about it, it was terrible" commented the blonde woman as she went to the sofa and sat again. She gestured towards Harriet and the maiden hurried to their side.

"Yes, madam?"

"Bring us some Kenyan tea with pastries, please."

"As you wish."

The door closed softly and Angelina left her bag on top of the table. She wore her middle long hair gathered in a little bun with some loose bangs at the front. The light red dress she wore folded when she sat at her sister's side. Her painted lips parted in a bright smile and she crossed her hands over her lap.

"How are you feeling, dear? You hadn't slept nothing, again."

"Is it that noticeable?"

Rachel let out a little laugh and served herself a glass of water.

"I know you well."

* * *

The sky was covered in dark clouds that hovered over the terrains, giving them an opaque aspect. His eyes drifted to the grandfather clock in the library: five past twenty. It wasn't that late. The book he had been reading rested on his lap with a bookmark in the middle, it was taking his time to finish that one because of the complex language. Ciel didn't like literature that much, and syntax wasn't his forte after all. Near him, his younger brother closed his notebook and sighed.

"Are you done? That was fast."

"It's easy, do you need any help?"

"No" replied the older child as he left the book at his side over the couch. He didn't like that kind of weather at all, because he had to stay inside the house doing homework and studying. He was smart, of course, and he liked to learn new things everyday, but sometimes he prefered to run around. His brother coughed near him and Ciel tensed. "Are you fine?"

"It's just a cough, don't worry. If you need help just tell me, I'm going to read something."

The boy got up and went to the nearest bookshelf looking for something to read. He wasn't in the mood for Poe's works that day. Even if the boy wouldn't admit it out loud, he didn't like to read his works when the weather was that gloom.

"Do you want to do something?"

"I don't know, auntie Angelina came to see mother, we could join them" proposed the child removing some loose hairs over his nose. His brother always wore his hair parted to the left, but he prefered to wear it parted to the right. "Maybe we can have some tea."

"That sounds nice. I'll leave the homework at father's desk, wait for me before you leave."

"But I'm hungry…"

Ciel made a sad gesture and gathered the books and notebooks under his arm.

"You are always hungry."

His brother stared at him and sunk his shoulders. His blue hair fell again over his nose and Ciel parted it with a concerned look on his round face.

"Sorry, I didn't wanted to be harsh. We'll go together to see father."

"Thanks."

* * *

Rachel took a sip from her cup and closed her eyes for a moment. It was nice to spend some time with her sister, especially when she had a few free days working in the hospital. The countess left the cup on its saucer and drew a napkin to her mouth to wipe away the drops of tea.

"I heard that Lady Drummond is preparing a Yule themed ball. We're still in autumn."

"You know how she is with those things, a month ahead isn't enough for her."

Angelina chuckled and bit an almond pastry. She left the rest over the napkin folded at her lap and cleaned her fingers.

"We hope she doesn't celebrate it on Ciel's birthday, again."

"It only happened once, Angelina. Don't be so harsh on her."

"But it's your son's birthday and yours is not precisely an unknown family."

The countess looked through the window and her features frowned when the first drops started to rattle the glass.

"I swear, sister, I can't stand this chill weather."

The woman looked at her back and pressed her lips. She didn't like it either. She was about to talk when she heard rushed feet at the other side of the door. Covering her mouth with a hand, she giggled.

"What is it?" asked her sister while she was bending to pick her cup again. She caught the muffled sounds and a smile curved her lips. "Oh, I see."

"It seems like someone can't wait for his appointment."

"I think it has more to do with the pastries."

The two women shared a meaningful look and they laughed out loud. When Rachel regained her composure enough, she looked at the door.

"We know you are out there, come inside."

* * *

Ciel was sitting at his aunt's side, while his brother was closest to their mother. Rachel passed him a pastry and the older boy picked it with a polite smile. Cherry almond pastries were too sweet for him, so he thanked the cocoa one his mother had given him. He listened to the rain outside as he munched the sweet trait and wandered his big blue eyes around the room. It had a nice pink pastel tone and the furniture was white, decorated but not overly detailed.

"How are you two doing with your homework?"

"It's easy" replied his brother in a happy tone. The boy couldn't help a smile and took another bit from the pastry as they talked. "Math isn't my forte but I prefer literature. Ciel, on the other hand, is really good at calculus."

He swallowed and cleaned his hands with a cloth napkin before he talked.

"It's not that hard. Maybe one day I'll help father with his company."

Angelina gave him an affectionate kiss on top of his head and the boy wrinkled his nose when her rose parfum flooded his nostrils. It wasn't a strong smell, but he wasn't accustomed to it and he sneezed. His brother chuckled and Rachel smiled too, and Ciel could have sworn that there had been some mischief on her face. It was rare to see his brother and his mother in good shape, so he tried to treasure each second.

"I'm sure you will, darling. Rachel," Angelina caressed her nephew's blue hair and got up from her seat. "Do you mind if I do the check now? I don't want it to be too late, these days night comes so fast…"

"Of course, of course. Come one dear, go with your aunt. Ciel and I will save you some pastries for later."

* * *

The child felt nervous about the check, but there was nothing he could do about. His aunt guided him upstairs to his room and sat him on the bed, carrying her big black medical bag with her. It was the tools what scared him, not the process. Angelina left the bag on top of the bed and smiled. It was better if the child was as calm as possible.

"Now, dear, Rachel had told me you are feeling better these days. It's been two weeks since you had the last episode."

"Yes, I cough very little and I'm sleeping better" his blue eyes scanned each one of her movements with some nervousness. He tried to change the topic when she took a wooden stethoscope and knelt before him. "Do you think Ciel will save the cherry almond pastries? He knows they are my favorites."

"I thought they were the vanilla ones."

"These are too boring."

The woman caressed his face.

"Honey, I need you to breath deep and slow, alright? Then you can talk all you want."

"Hm, fine."

"Can you lift your shirt?"

She always asked him, both for politeness and respect of his own space. The boy did as she told and focused on his breath. The air filled his lungs and he held it there, then released the air from his mouth. Angelina pressed the wooden tool against his ribcage and listened. There were no gurgling sounds, but it was better to double check.

"Do it again three times more."

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

He nodded with solemnity and breathed again. He did it twice times more and then Angelina got up and took his wrist, moving her lips without making a sound. The child realised that she was counting to herself and looked down to his wrist.

"Your pulse is regular, too. I have to check your temperature, and then we can go downstairs" explained the woman with all her patience as she saved the wooden instrument in her bag. She picked up a mercury-in-glass thermometer and turned under the light from the lamp, until the silver bar was visible. After she had shook it a couple of times to move all the liquid to its tip, she lifted her nephew's arm and placed the thermometer under his armpit. "Now, be quiet for some minutes until it registers your temperature. You are doing well."

"And after it, we can go downstairs again?"

"Of course."

* * *

Rachel accompanied her sister to the main door and watched as Tanaka helped her with her coat. She drew a handkerchief clutched between her fingers to her mouth and coughed again, heavier than before. She cursed the cold weather and shook her head.

"Are you alright, sister?"

"It's-" another cough interrupted her and she held the cloth against her mouth. Rachel trembled when she removed it. "-just a… cough."

The red headed woman hurried to her side and cupped her hand between hers with a worried look in her big eyes. The countess tried to smile, but the gesture looked eerie when she gritted her teeth to hold another cough. When she was about covering her mouth with the handkerchief once more, her sister dug her fingers in her wrist.

"Rachel, it's been months since you coughed blood. I'm not going anywhere."


	8. 28th October, 1885

The place looked different that time. It was sunk in shadows, but some shapes could be recognized here and there. But that time it wasn't like he was walking over mud. A black, dense liquid reached his ankles and made no sound when he walked. In fact, everything was ominously quiet. He looked around trying to identify anything around him. But the shapes scattered around weren't that familiar to him. Yet the child had a heavy feeling of acquaintance. He stopped his trail when a far murmur filled the silence at his back. He turned around and discovered more darkness. Again, there were no ceiling nor floor. He shivered and resumed his wandering.

"Hello?"

The ambience smothered him and swallowed his low voice. The child felt a shiver down his spine and began to run aimlessly. He could have sworn that something had tried to grab his shoulder and had failed by mere inches. The black mud agitated around him with each step and its surface curved in silent waves. His lungs compressed. The air felt like a dense fog, flooding his lungs, oppressing them from inside, blocking his throat…

* * *

A bark. Another one, closer that time. Bright light over his closed eyelids, shaking him from his slumber. He tried to remove the hand pressed against his forehead with no avail.

"-cold towels, hurry-"

"-go wait outside, Ciel, take Seb-"

"But-"

The boy opened his eyes and stared at the puddle of colours hovering over him. A mass of red at his right, a bluish one floated at his left a little further. He blinked and cleared his eyes slowly, his eyelids felt heavy. He just wanted to sleep more, but his body felt warm and cold at the same time. His lungs didn't hurt, but his head was another matter. A pulse had starting to grow behind his eyes and had found its place under his temples. Each time his heart throbbed, a wave of pain flooded his head.

"-darling?"

He had to answer, yet the words were stuck in his chest. He coughed to clear his throat and his lungs protested. It felt like a bunch of nails embedded in his bones. His hand clutched the sheets and he took a deep breath. The child started to recognize the shapes around him: his aunt was at his right and held a cold towel against his forehead, and his father was leaving the room. He didn't want to be alone. He _dreaded_ it.

"Wait!"

The cold water against his forehead felt refreshing, yet his throat hurted because of his shouts. Another cough shook his body and the child closed his eyes. If he could just sleep, but the nightmare felt still too recent, too _real_.

"He has to leave, but you can see him later, I promise."

His aunt was always so kind, so patient. She applied more pressure on the towel and massaged his temples with delicacy. Her thumbs felt cold.

"You have a fever, you fell asleep. Do you remember it?"

He shook his head and closed his eyes, delving in the soft touch of her hands against his skin. Angelina removed some sweat covered locks and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"It's fine, I'm going to take care of you now. I have to low your temperature first."

"My throat hurts."

"Because of the cough, darling. Does your chest hurt?"

"Not much."

The woman took mental notes about everything and removed the damp towel. She took another one and plunged the cloth in a basil full of cold water. She twisted and drained the excess of water before she placed it over her nephew's forehead. The boy grabbed her wrist and she tensed her jaw. His hand felt cold despite his fever. That wasn't a good sign.

"I don't want to fall asleep again, auntie…"

"You have to rest if you want to be healthy soon. Did you have nightmares again?"

He averted his blue eyes and turned his head. He hadn't told anyone he was having them, why would he want to worry them even more? His family had enough taking care of his mother. The child coughed again and Angelina lent him a handkerchief with haste.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. You have nothing to fear, they're just dreams. Plus, nothing it's going to hurt you."

"Do you promise it?" asked the boy with a thin voice. His breathing was becoming more toilsome each time he talked, and Angelina pressed a finger against his lips.

"I promise it. Now be quiet, you will hurt your throat."

He gave a silent nod and closed his eyes with anguish. What if she was _wrong_?

* * *

One hour later Angelina left the room. She rested her weight against the wooden door and drew a hand to her mouth. The other one was clutching a blood stained handkerchief and the woman took a long breath to calm her nerves. It was futile, because tears flooded her eyes anyway and she found herself sobbing in the middle of the hall. Her body shook with each silent whine and she tried her best to regain her composure. Just when she had thought she had the fever over control, and the coughing was recessing, her nephew had coughed a bit of blood. Just like Rachel three days ago. Angelina cleaned her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled. She didn't want to be seen -nor heard- like that. Her steps sounded dull against the carpet that adorned the hallway as she strolled to Vincent's bureau, where he was waiting with Ciel. When she finally arrived, she took some seconds more to calm down while she was looking through the windows. The warm weather was gone and had been replaced with clouded skies and scarce rains. The air felt wet and the atmosphere felt charged, as if the skies were loading static for the incoming storms. October was drifting away fast and no one was noticing it. The woman turned her back to the clear windows and knocked the door in front of her.

"Come inside."

The door made no sound when she entered the bureau and closed it behind her. Vincent was sitting at his desk, his elbows resting on the table and his hands covered his mouth. He looked tired, his almond eyes had lost their usual brightness and the man looked paler than other days. Angelina could had sworn that he hadn't slept anything in the past two days, judging by his sunk shoulders and the bags under his eyes. Sitting in front of him was Ciel, occupying one of the two chairs reserved for visitors. The child was tired too, and his usual cheerful mood had been replaced by a somber look in his eyes. At the boy's feet laid the family dog resting his weight on his tum with his paws crossed. The Borzoi lifted his head when she entered, but lost his interest soon and rested it on top of his paws again. Ciel sighed and slouched in his seat, but as soon as he saw his aunt, he straightened his back.

"How is he, Angelina?"

Vincent spoke with a tired tone. He placed his hands on the desk and stood up from his seat. The Earl fixed his eyes on the redheaded woman with expectation. She went to the desk and sat when he made a gesture, then sat down too. A sigh left her mouth and she crossed her hands over her lap. Her eyes drifted to a white square: she was still clutching the blood stained handkerchief. She licked her lips and crumpled it between her fingers.

"He fell asleep because of the fever. His temperature is regular, as well as his breath." Angelina peered at her older nephew with concern before she continued, but Vincent gestured her to keep talking. "Because of his state I didn't force him to purge anything, and choose instead to infuse some herbs. After he breathed the vapors his cough seemed to diminish enough to drink. I gave him some water, and applied an A. B. C. liniment* over his chest."

"Did it work?"

"Seems like it. Vincent, did you locate someone else?"

Ciel's eyes fixed on his father, then wandered to his aunt with a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean about someone else, aun-"

"Ciel, I told you to be quiet when adults are talking."

"Sorry, father…"

Angelina frowned and started to fidget with the handkerchief between her hands. The cloth felt a bit damp because of her sweaty palms and the woman rubbed them against her skirt. Her nephew shut up and looked at his feet with sadness.

"Vincent, there's no need to scold him. Ciel did nothing wrong."

"I'm tired. Excuse me, Ciel. I know you are worried, we all are, but you have to keep your manners."

"I know."

"Back to the topic, Angelina… I found one, I believe. I have to discuss the matter with him in depth, but I believe in his knowledge. Will you check Rachel later, once you have had some rest?"

"Of course."

The woman relaxed her hands and smoothed her skirt with slow movements. The fatigue was making a dent on her, and no matter how much she wanted to attend her sister as soon as possible, she knew her brother-in-law was right. She needed some rest, maybe just some minutes alone having a light beverage to replenish her strength. Angelina forced a smile on her red lips and faced her nephew.

"Ciel, do you want to have a tea with me? After that I'll check your mother too."

"I don't want them to die."

Vincent shared a look with the woman and curved his lips in a tender smile.

"No one is going to die. You have my word."

The Earl stood up and helped his sister-in-law, then his son. Sebastian trotted behind them and nuzzled his snout against his legs. Vincent patted his head with affection and the Borzoi followed them outside the bureau. The man closed the door behind them and closed his eyes with relief, as if closing that door he was enclosing all his fears inside that room, at least for a while. A grey light illuminated the hall and he looked through the window, observing in silence the large mass of clouds gathered over the state. Autumn was never a welcomed season.

* * *

* A. B. C. liniment was a rubbing mixture used to treat rheumatism, diverse pains, and stiffness. It was a mix of aconite, belladonna and chloroform. It was used around 1872, and lead to at least one known death.


	9. 13th November, 1885

The moonlight bathed the wet street and reflected in the dark windows. It was a friday night and that part of the city was pretty quiet for those hours. He checked again the closed door and started to walk down the street. He inspected his reflection in the showcase of a flower store a couple of houses away from his parlor: his outfit had seen better days, soon he would have to invest in some suits. Despite his profession, it seemed that the only places where he could wear his uniform was inside his parlor, or around the cities' graveyards. He tilted his hat and resumed his steps. As if he _cared_ about that. When he reached an avenue he turned to the Thames river walk, where it was easier to stop a carriage. His hands searched his inner pockets and he started to whistle a popular song. It was acceptable to sing about a young woman who died frozen in the river *, but God forbid him for strolling around London in his funeral robes. His lips parted in a wide grin at the thought of it. He finally found what he was looking for, almost at the same time a carriage stopped near him. Maybe that night the odds were at his side.

* * *

Tanaka left the empty glass of water in the kitchen sink and checked his pocket watch. Twenty to eleven. The rest of the servants were still occupied with their chores, and soon he would have to resume his own. The Earl had told him they would have a visitor that night, and there was no reunion scheduled that night. He hadn't asked, no matter how much lord Vincent trusted him, he was in no place to ask questions around. Don't ask, don't see, don't hear. But he did, diligent as he was. A position of importance like his among the servant ranks was an honored one. Not everyone could balance a whole ale of servants, from the gardener to the maidens, and expect it to be alright. The old man gestured to a nearby boy who was washing the dishes left by the cook and exited the kitchen with haste. His eyes went to the bell panel at the entrance of the servant's ale, but none of them rang. He entered the main hall and stopped by the main door. Quarter to eleven. The door rang and he opened the wood panel with a warm smile on his features.

"Good night, sir. How was your trip?"

"It could have been better, the driver was more talkative than my customers. One could say that human interaction is not my forte," as the tall mortician stepped inside the manor and gave his coat and hat to the diligent butler, his eyes scanned the place. "Where is the Earl?"

"He's waiting for you in the library, I shall-"

He waved one hand before his face, dismissing his compliance. Tanaka nodded and watched as the man wandered around the main hall. It had been years since the Earl, no… Since the past Countess had met him, and no matter how many years passed he looked exactly the same. The butler folded the heavy coat over his arm and shifted his weight.

"I know my way, don't worry guiding me there. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"As you wish, sir. I'll go later to see if you want anything."

"Understood."

Undertaker climbed the staircase with long steps. The low heels clacked the floor and the mortician took a second to inspect the family portrait that hung above the stairs. All of them looked lovely and accurate to their real counterparts: the painter had done a great job. He frowned as he examined the painting. Not long ago, a very different one had hung in the same place. His hands tightened in fists inside his long sleeves and he left out a tired sigh. With his head a little sunk between his shoulders, the man kept climbing the stairs. The _current_ Earl had things to discuss with him.

* * *

He didn't look away from the window when the door opened at his back, nor when it closed with a low sound. His brown eyes were fixed in the nearby forest like he was trying to find patterns in the treetops agitated by the wind. All Hallow's Eve had passed and they had organized a little celebration for the servants who worked in the state. Despite the cheer ambience, it had been noted the absence of one of the Earl's sons. Vincent had listened way too many wishes of luck for his taste, but his inner turmoil wasn't an excuse to disregard his social duties as an Earl. Rachel had recovered in no time, she might had been struck by a change of weather that had affected her health, but their son was another matter. Angelina had visited them between her shifts in the hospital, doing the best she had managed to, but in the end it hadn't been sufficient. The man averted his eyes from the nocturnal landscape and forced himself to attend the visit. After all, it had been him who had required his presence. Undertaker looked less cheerful than the past days despite his fondness for the current weather; in fact, the mortician looked more eerie and gloom. Vincent moved away from the window and went to a near couch. He sat on the blue velvet seat and patted the upholstery at his side.

"Do you need anything?"

Undertaker sat near him.

"No. Put me up to date about the boy."

"Coughing, fever due to the weather changes," as the Earl talked he rested his back against the seat. "He's been coughing blood, but I think it has more to do with his coughs than internal injuries. He's sleeping now, Angelina managed to calm him enough."

"What is she giving him?"

"Vapors, some infusions, A. B. C. liniment the past week."

"Is it doing anything?"

"It seems to relieve his chest pains, but I don't know if it does anything more."

The mortician straightened his back and looked the earl in the eye.

"How much do you trust me, Earl?"

Vincent stopped to fidget with his family ring and got up from his seat. Whenever he looked at him like that, he felt uncomfortable. He returned to the window and spoke from there, so Undertaker had to turn his head to face him. The funeral director smirked and went to the window with languid steps. He rested his weight against the windowsill and followed the Earl's gaze to the terrains before them, bathed in a soft moonlight. It made a contrast with the warm light coming from the oil lamps inside the house. Vincent looked paler than their last visit, and the circles under his eyes were becoming more prominent each day.

"Because I have my methods, but I need to know if you trust me enough. _Claudia did_."

"Don't talk about her like that."

The man tensed in his spot and took a deep breath before he kept talking. Undertaker twitched his mouth with displeasure and cut him before he started, his voice low and dead.

"You are not the first Earl in this family, and you won't be the last. It's your weight to carry if your family decided to tie themselves to the Royal Family long ago. I don't want to discuss that, you know my opinion about it. One day that leash will be too tight to shake it off."

"Again you are talking about things you don't understand."

The mortician tilted his head and narrowed his eyelids. His yellowish green eyes glimmered behind his fringe.

"Is that so?"

"I keep you around because you've been valuable many times in the past, don't make me change my mind." Vincent looked up to him as he spoke, his tone getting higher with each word. He wouldn't shout, no, he was better than that. But all the pressure around him had started to make him crumble, and the last thing he would tolerate was Undertaker talking to him like that. As if they were anything closer than partners in crime. Who did he think he was, to disrespect his family?

"These days have been taking their toll on you, and that's the only reason I'm ignoring that threat, Earl."

Undertaker curved his lips in a smile, but the gesture looked more eerie than warm. The other man sunk his shoulders and rested his back against the cold window.

"Excuse my manners, they were out of place. You know I trust you enough to treat my son, if it was the opposite I would have never asked you in the first place. But don't mention her again."

"As you wish. Now, you were telling me about his symptoms."

* * *

Rachel jolted on her seat near the bed when she heard a gentle tapping at the door. She looked at her son with worry and composed a fragile, reassuring smile on her pink lips.

"It's just a second."

"I don't want anyone except-" a heavy cough shook him and interrupted his weak protests. When he regained his breath, the boy kept complaining. "Auntie to-"

The countess went to the door with hurried steps, her long dress whispering behind her. She held the doorknob with white knuckles when she opened the wood panel. The woman let them in and closed the door behind the three of them. Even if she had talked with Undertaker sometimes, and she would never question her husband's reason, the sight of the mortician sent shivers down her spine. It was odd, to see him dressed in funeral robes, looming around her son. _It was too soon_. Rachel shook her head and some blonde strands of hair fell over her face, freed from the bun that held them in place. Vincent circled her shoulders with one arm and forced her to turn around.

"He'll be alright, darling. We've talked about this."

"I know, I trust you two, but, but…" Rachel's brittle voice shattered in a muffled sob against her husband's neck. Vincent caressed her hair and guided her outside the room, not before he looked at his son with reassuring eyes.

"You'll be alright."

"S-Stay!"

"It's better if they leave, little Earl. Don't force your throat, you will hurt yourself more."

His blue eyes jumped from his sobbing mother to him, wide with fear. Yes, father had talked with him about it, he had explained to him that if Auntie Angelina wasn't able to treat him, he would look for _someone else_. And at least he knew Undertaker beforehand. Despite his rational thoughts, the boy crisped his hands over the duvet that covered him when his parents disappeared behind the door. A ball of fear started to grow inside his stomach, pressing his diaphragm against his ribcage. He bent when a wave of nausea shook him due to his nerves and held his hands against his belly, trying to calm himself enough.

"There, there… I'm not going to hurt you, dear."

His voice was soothing and quiet, and the child closed his eyes with a long sigh from his lips. Everything would be fine, soon it would be over… He tensed suddenly and drew his hands to his mouth with haste. Undertaker searched for a nearby basin and placed it on the boy's lap. His long fingers caressed his dark blue hair as he threw up between silent sobs. It was going to be harsher than he had expected.

* * *

* _Fair Charlotte_ was a popular song based on a poem by the humorist Seba Smith titled _Young Charlotte_. It was written in 1840 and told the story of a young lady who ignored her mother's advice and ended up frozen to death in a river, and was found by her fiancé. Porcelain dolls were sold as bath toys for children around 1850 in Germany. But in Britain, those cheap little dolls ended up being buried in cakes and puddings in Christmas, to be discovered by little children.


	10. 14th November, 1885, pt 1

He drifted slowly away from his slumber. The child didn't remember when he had fallen asleep. Ciel stretched his arms and sat on his bed. It should be still nighttime because no light came through the curtain slits. He got up from the bed and left the room in silence. How had he _fallen asleep_ with his little brother in such a bad condition? The little heir scolded himself as he sneaked past the corridor and headed to the other room. Despite the heating system around the house the wooden tables felt rough and cold against his bare feet. He took a deep breath before knocking the door softly. He tried again when he got no response and his thin eyebrows frowned.

"Come in. Earl, he finally- _Oh_."

* * *

The child looked up to find the mortician perched above him. It reminded him of a raven*, or any other black bird with all those dark clothes. His fringe was removed from his face and Ciel realized it was the first time he saw him like that. He had no circles under his eyes but he looked somehow tired. Restraining himself for pointing the scar that crossed his face, the boy gulped at his serious stare. The room behind him was sunk in shadows like the rest of the hall. The only light came from a little candle the mortician was holding in one hand, but the light was so weak and flickering that Ciel was sure it was close to die.

"I want to see him. Is he asleep?"

Undertaker moved to his side to let the child in and closed the door carefully. He heard rushed footsteps towards the bed and turned on his heels.

"Don't wake him up. He needs to rest."

He left the candle on the nightstand near the headboard. Then he went to a comfortable chair located at the right side of the bed and sat there, sprawling in his seat and staring at the other child. He was waiting for Vincent or Rachel to come and check their younger son, not for his older brother to sneak in. A smile crossed his features when he remembered the Countess talking about _how much_ they were like their father. He watched as Ciel got near the bed with his limbs tensed. The child frowned his eyebrows and placed a hand over his brother's arm. He turned to him with his blue eyes filled with worry and a pinch of fear.

"What have you done to him? He's cold."

"He'll be fine in a couple of hours. He's just sleeping, little Earl. Shouldn't you be asleep too? I know you two don't fear the hour of the wolf, yet it's good to rest enough."

The boy huffed and shook his head. How could he sleep being worried? But he wasn't acquainted with Undertaker, it was his brother who, strangely, was talkative towards him. Ciel sat on the bed and drew a hand to cover his mouth when he yawned.

"I couldn't rest. I…" he looked at his bare legs and his voice became a brittle whisper. "Don't want him to die."

"You don't need to worry about that, despite his illness your brother is a healthy child. It's just that sometimes his respiratory system fails. With the right treatment he will be healthy like your mother."

"She falls ill sometimes."

"But not all the time. Now, you shall leave."

Ciel opened his mouth to reply but covered it with one hand. He wouldn't cry in front of a stranger, what kind of noble boy did that? Plus he wasn't a toddler, he was older, and strong. The child hiccuped and tensed when he heard a creak in front of him. Undertaker caressed his hair and knelt to his height on the carpet that covered the sides of the bed.

"I-I dreamt it. If you dream it it becomes true. He _was_ dead."

The funeral director ran his fingers through the child's dark blue hair and spoke with a gentle tone.

"We dream a lot of things that don't become true, or that aren't possible. I'm sure you've dreamt you could fly, and I don't see you growing wings."

Ciel sniffled and shrugged his shoulders. He had a point, but the hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach wouldn't leave. The child took a deep breath and looked to his sleeping brother.

"When he wakes up, he will be fine again?"

"He will be better at least. Now," Undertaker got up and peered at the ill child. His breath seemed stable and some pink had started to flourish on his cheeks. It was relieving to see that it was working. He drifted his eyes back to the child in front of him, who was cleaning his face with the sleeves of his nightgown. "You need to sleep too. Come back in the morning, I promise he will be fine."

The boy nodded in silence and left a dry, silent kiss on his brother's cheek. He rushed to the door, turned his head to them and closed the wooden panel at his back. Alone in the hall, the child stood still a couple of seconds as he tried to catch any sounds. If he was caught out of bed at those hours surely his parents would scold him despite his good intentions. Ciel walked to his room in complete silence. It was dark inside and he missed the dying candle even if he disliked the shadows it casted over his brother's face. He was _pale_ , like in his dream. The little heir climbed to his bed and hid under the sheets trying to calm his mind. His gaze wandered around the room, finding weird shapes in the shadows around him. No matter how hard he tried to convince him that it was his regular room, he couldn't shake the odd sensation nagging at his back. And when he heard a dog howling at the distance; he knew it, because Sebastian never, _ever_ howled -his mother didn't like even when he barked or growled playing-, he covered his head with the heavy duvet. He didn't like omens at all. **

* * *

The next morning the state was covered in a light fog that disappeared in a couple of hours and left the gardens covered in morning dew. Rachel got up and stretched her arms careful to not wake her husband. But to her initial surprise, the Earl was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, in the dizziness typical of the first minutes after having waking up, she realized the cause of her husband's absence. Of course, with their son ill, he must be discussing the treatment with Undertaker, or busy with someone else. Her delicate blonde eyebrows curved in a worried expression and she dug her teeth in her lower lip. She sat on the edge of the bed and put on a pair of slippers. Rachel went to the dressing room annexed to the room and picked up a wool dressing gown. She took some minutes to comb her hair fast and tied her blonde locks in a low loose bun with a silk tie. Wrapping the wool cloth around her shoulders, the Countess left the room with a fast pace. She would worry about her husband later, that morning her son was her priority. The hall was bathed in a soft light coming from the windows and the young woman peered outside when she walked past a high picture window. The sky was still clouded but the masses gathered over the state had a light grey tone close to pure white, nothing like the last days. Outside the servants came and went carrying things, while the gardeners were trimming the decorative bushes. She moved away from the windowpane and resumed her walk to her son's room. The typical sounds from the servant's ale barely reached her ears, but she could hear Tanaka dispensing orders around. Like every other Saturday morning. She reached the door to her son's chambers and knocked twice before she placed her hand on the doorknob.

"Can I go in?"

Rachel waited at the door when she heard muffled steps coming to it. To her surprise it wasn't Vincent who opened the door, but Undertaker. The tall mortician looked like he hadn't slept a wink, she thought while she was inspecting him from head to feet. His usual veiled smile was gone and he had a tired posture against the doorway.

"Countess, what a pleasure to see you this morning" he greeted with a singsong tone. He moved from the threshold and closed the door. "The Earl is having a reunion with Diederich and the others. They arrived early in the morning and he wanted to let you rest."

"Shouldn't you be down with them?"

"I have better things to do than hearing them babble" he sentenced with a disdain flourish of his hands. He gestured towards the chair placed between the window and the bed. "But please, have a seat. Did you eat anything?"

"I'll have breakfast later, thank you very much for your concern" Rachel sat and fixed her eyes in the sleeping child. His breath sounded calm and his cheeks had a healthy pink tone on them. "How was it?"

"Well, it wasn't pleasant, but he behaved very well."

"Did he woke up? He's been having trouble sleeping the last month."

"I had to wake him around five in the morning to give him the second dose, and after that he fell asleep like a log."

The woman nodded and placed a hand over her son's arm. The child turned his head to face her and mumbled something under his breath. Rachel got up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, her wool dressing gown falling around her like a white cascade. Some locks fell around her face with the sudden movement and she smiled at the little boy who had started to wake up slowly. Behind her, the mortician ran a hand through his hair and sat on the vacant chair with a low sigh.

"Are you alright?"

"Even if I don't sleep too much, I have to admit that I'm tired" he conceded with a polite smile. The boy had murmured in dreams and he had worried about the dose he had given him, but the explanation of his mother soothed his doubts.

"You can retire if you need to, I know you have a business to take care of, sir. I'll tell Tanaka to-" she halted mid-sentence and looked down to her son, whose big blue eyes were fixed on her. "Sweetheart, how are you?"

"If you two excuse me, I shall meet with the Earl and the rest downstairs. Thanks for the tea offering, Countess, I'll tell that lovely butler of yours if I cross him."

With that, Undertaker got up and bowed politely. They needed some intimacy and he was more than willing to give them as much as they needed. He found Rachel to be charming and always enjoyed a good conversation with the young woman, but it was true that Vincent had told him to join them as soon as possible.

"Undertaker."

He turned to the blonde woman with a hand on the door.

"Yes, madam?"

"Thank you. I don't know how to… If there's anything we can do…"

"There's no need of payments, it's always a pleasure to help your family, milady."

* * *

The door closed behind him and trapped their muffled words. The hall was flooded with light and Undertaker let out a little groan of disgust because of the contrast with the darkened room. With long and steady steps he walked away, his boots stomping the rich carpet and his arms resting at his sides. If Diederich and the others had come that early, that only meant bad news to come. He lowered his head when he walked past the family portrait in the main hall and kept going downstairs with haste. Maybe _for once_ they would focus on something important.

* * *

* This is a little nod to Edgar Allan Poe's poem The Raven, published in 1845. The stanza is ' _But, with mien of lord of lady, perched above my chamber door–– Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door–– Perched, and sat, and nothing more._ '

** It was considered a bad omen to hear a dog howling at night when someone was ill in a house. However, it could be reversed searching behind one's own bed and turning over a shoe.


	11. 14th November, 1885, pt 2

"But we caught him!"

"I'm telling you, it wasn't him. Sir Randall, I saw him with my own eyes and that man isn't the one-"

Vincent breathed deep and relaxed his posture on the rich seat he was occupying. Right behind him, the family butler stood still near the fireplace. Don't _hear_ , don't _see_ , don't _talk_ , but of course it was a façade. The old man had been useful many times to count them, so the Earl found in him a good confident. He wandered his almond eyes over the people gathered down there, from Diederich and Randall who were having an intense argument as usual, Lau who was slouched on a red velvet seat of three places, to Undertaker who had just crossed the door unnoticed. The earl gestured to him with his right hand and the mortician walked behind the seats in silence until he reached his side. Vincent moved to his side when he got closer enough and placed his hand over his mouth.

"You lost nothing of interest. Randall caught the wrong suspect."

The tall man nodded and chuckled with disapproval. He rested an arm on top of the armchair back and glanced at the others behind his long fringe. When he spoke his voice distilled weariness.

"As usual. What was that important thing Herr Diederich came to tell you?"

"Later," he commanded with a hand gesture. Undertaker straightened his back and rested his weight against the seat arm without sitting there. Vincent cleared his throat and gave his family ring a whole loop around his index. "Gentlemen, we have better things to discuss."

Diederich and Randall looked at the earl at the same time, the german man with his arms crossed over his chest and the Scotland Yard chief with his face reddened. The stern man touched his left sideburn and pressed his lips in a straight line. His brown eyes went from the Earl to the mortician at his side, and for a second his thick eyebrows raised with surprise. _How_ and _when_ had he entered? He looked back to the Earl and examined his expression. Vincent looked exhausted and emotionless when he stood up from his seat.

"If it's not the correct suspect, Lord Randall, maybe you should be open to collaborate with _all_ of the presents. About that traffic net in the docs, I have to thank you for being so efficient dismantling it, Lau."

The chinese young man waved his hand and curved his mouth in a wide smile. He tilted his head to the Earl and corrected a bit his posture on his seat.

"It's always a pleasure to be useful, milord."

"But if I convoked all of you this early is for other matters. It's a shame Lady Svetlana couldn't join us, as she's preparing for a trip, but we'll have to see what can we manage on our own. Now, Diederich, if you care to share the details with everyone else…"

The young man cleared his throat and took a look around the gathered noblemen. He rubbed his hands and adjusted the neck of his uniform.

"I came to tell the Earl about movement between the high spheres. This has coincided with a rise of movement in the Underground. Sir Lau dismantled the trafficking network the last week, but rumours have reached my ears about others taking their place in a blink."

"I'll tell my people to keep an eye around, and if the opportunity arises," the young chinese man looked at the Earl looking for approval before he continued. When Vincent nodded, he continued with a sly smirk. "We'll dismantle everything as soon as possible. After all, we have to keep the monopoly on the docks."

"... Fine. As I was saying, the Italians and other groups are gathering weapons from the Old Continent. It saddens me to say it, but they are probably from the German Army-"

"What do you mean about the high spheres? Other noblemen?" interrupted Randall with a orotund tone. He frowned and sat near Lau in the red couch, his legs parted and his hands pressed together between his knees.

"Indeed. In our last meeting, Lady Svetlana pointed the increased number of reunions disguised as regular balls between the city nobles. She only managed to sneak in two and, of course, she didn't have the rank needed to access to the private reunions held behind closed doors."

"I fail to see how that indicates any movement between the higher spheres. Those are low rank nobles, not people tied to the Royal Family, no?"

"We don't know yet." Diederich breathed and looked at Vincent directly. "And of course, there's the dog head."

"What dog head?"

That time it was Undertaker who cut the german man in the middle of his explanation. He got up from his improvised seat and entwined his long, slender fingers over his chest as he used to do when he was tensed. At his side, Vincent was fidgeting with his family ring as if he was just listening to his friend, but the mortician knew that it was his façade crumbling. He was nervous, and with his son and his wife sick he had left the Watchdog duties more or less on Diederich hands. He was _loyal_ , after all.

"The one some workers reported in one of the Earl's warehouse in the docs. It was hung from one of the back doors, without notes or anything else."

"Out of nowhere? It could be something personal against one of the workers" commented Randall in a modulate tone.

"I doubt it. Now that I remember it, I found a disemboweled dog near one of my dens, two nights ago."

"And you didn't say anything?" That time was Diederich who raised his voice. "Lau, for God's sake!"

"Please, I'm used to get threats every week, I didn't think it was relevant."

The Earl frowned his eyebrows and rested his chin on the back of his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of his seat. Strange coincidences were the _last_ thing he needed. He raised his hand to silence Randall before he started to complain, and Undertaker closed his mouth too. The man gave him a significant look.

"Seems reasonable," stated the young Earl with a dead tone. "After all everyone of us is more or less involved in… activities. We're talking about the Underground after all. This wolf's den needs a cerberus to take care of it, and we've discussed many times how _useful_ it would be for some people if the Watchdog was erased from the equation. Now, if anyone has any other treat to share…"

* * *

The drop fell to the paper and the child hissed between his teeth. He had almost completed his mathematics homework and, to his dismay, there it was, an inkblot in the middle of the operation. Ciel took a clean sheet from a pile near him and started to copy the exercise again. He was studying in his father's bureau, because he concentrated better there when he had to study math. The library was being cleaned and the room where he took classes was too far from his brother's room for his taste. That morning he looked far better than the last night, and he had thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , he could trust Undertaker. The boy blushed when he remembered how weak he had been, crying in front of someone he considered an stranger, but to his surprise he had been patient and kind. The quill made a scratching noise and another inkblot marred the paper. He had applied more pressure than the needed and there it was, another useless sheet. The child placed a third before him and swung his legs back and forth. It wasn't that bad, after all if his shy brother could trust him, why wouldn't he? That time he copied the exercises with a neat calligraphy and he smiled to himself. Two exercises left and he could go to see his brother. Despite his improvement, he was still in bed, and their mother had barely left his side. Maybe he was a _little_ jealous of all that attention, maybe just a _pinch_ , but that thought made him felt bad. What kind of brother felt _jealous_ about his mother paying attention to her _sick_ son? Ciel shook his head and examined the rich desk, leaving the quill on top of the wooden surface far from the paper sheet. His azure eyes looked around the bureau as he tried to change the course of his thoughts. He wasn't a bad brother, no. Ciel Phantomhive was a good child, even if sometimes he liked to sneak around the house, start mud battles, or play hide-and-seek with Sebastian. It was true that sometimes he had teased his brother about his literary tastes, but they were just _jokes_. The boy closed the ink bottle and cleaned the quill with a napkin. He would finish his homework later. A clock gave the hour and he counted the chimes moving his lips. Quarter past twelve, it was still early.

* * *

Tanaka climbed the staircase with a good pace. Once the Earl had dismissed his guests, the butler had spent some time supervising the rest of the servants. Like he was doing before he had been called downstairs to bring the guests some beverages, and had been asked to stay. He knew that the earl trusted him, otherwise he wouldn't even _know_ he had those reunions. The old man was carrying a closed envelope between his gloved hands to deliver it to the Countess. He went around the halls bathed in sunlight, and he took a quick glance to the sky when he passed a window. The clouds were starting to disperse and drift away, but some masses still hovered over the terrains. The butler reached the room of the little lord and knocked twice. As if it was any other morning.

"Yes?"

"Lady Rachel, there's a letter for you."

"Come in."

He entered the room with a polite nod of his head. The curtains were parted and the Countess was sitting near the window with a long woolen dressing gown wrapped around her shoulders. Her son was sitting on the bed with his back against soft cushions.

"Good morning, grandpa."

"Good morning, little Lord. Are you feeling better this morning?"

"Yes!"

Rachel smiled at her son and then fixed her blue eyes on the envelope carried by the old man.

"Who sent it?"

"It's from the Middleford family, milady. Do you need anything else? I wanted to give it to you as soon as it arrived."

"Thanks, Tanaka" replied Rachel with a little smile on her pink lips. "Prepare some tea and pastries for us and bring them to the…" she did a pause and looked at her son, and the boy nodded with a big smile on his face. "Yes, to the tea room. You may retire."

"As you wish, my Lady."

The Countess followed the man until he left the room and then looked back to her son. Surely he looked far better than the past days. The boy stared at her with his eyes wide open, his hair was disheveled but that was all. No pale skin, no fever, no tremors, no more coughs. The boy parted the duvet tucked at his sides and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Where are you going, sweetheart? At least like that. Being sick is not an excuse to not get ready in the morning."

"But you are still in your nightgown, mother."

Rachel let out a quiet laugh and ruffled the boy's hair with one hand. The closed letter rested on her lap under her other hand. She could read it in the tea room after having eating something. The young woman got up and helped her son to go to the dressing room at the other side of the bedroom. Probably it was just her sister-in-law telling them about a nearby visit with Elizabeth. It was some time since she had seen her nephew due to her illness, and knowing the little girl she would be _charmed_ about the idea of visiting them. She opened the door to the dressing room and picked a perfectly folded suit of two pieces in white and navy blue. It reminded of a sailor uniform, and she had always found it funny. Chuckling to herself and doing a mental note about paying the mortician somehow, she returned to the room and left the suit on top of the bed. That tea wasn't going to drink itself.


	12. 15th November, 1885

It was his room, but at the same time it seemed a poor imitation of it. The black substance that had flooded the floor other times was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't the first time he dreamt about his house, after all. He went to the door and opened it without sound. The hall was even more darker than his room, but it was his home and he knew it well. The child walked on tiptoe until he reached Ciel's room. And he waited. In all his nightmares he had been alone before, and in unknown places. It was the first time he recognized the place. From the other side of the corridor, a flutter of feathers reached his ears, and he hurried to enter the room. Maybe _for once_ his father was right and he shouldn't read Poe anymore. The room was exactly the same as his brother's, yet when he went to the window and peered outside, he saw nothing. He frowned and turned around to exit; his brother was nowhere to be seen, and he didn't like the cold sweat that fell down his back. He stepped on a puddle, then another. The black liquid poured from the rich carpet each time he rested his feet on it. When he reached the threshold it reached his hips. The wooden door wouldn't open because of the tar-like substance. The boy froze in place when someone, no… _something_ , knocked the window behind him.

"'Tis some visitor, tapping at my chamber door– Only this and nothing more.'" *

* * *

"... lizabeth is coming! Wake up, we have… time to lose… pretend!"

He opened his eyes and found Ciel hovering over him. The child was still wearing his nightgown and his hair was messy. His older brother knelt on the duvet and looked at him with big, bright eyes.

"What?"

"Elizabeth is coming this afternoon with Aunt Frances. We could play pretend."

The boy scratched his head and rested his weight on his left elbow. At his side, Ciel had started to hop on his site.

"Like when we fooled mother one time?"

"Yes, but with Lizzie. How _well_ can you imitate me?"

"It's easy" he retorted with a cunning smirk. Maybe his tumultuous brother wasn't the best way to wake up from a nightmare, but he knew how to keep him busy. The boy knelt on the bed at his side and started to bounce in his spot. "Elizabeth is coming today! Why are you still sleeping? You are _always_ sleeping around! Later we can get Sebastian and play hide and seek the four of us."

"Not bad" conceded Ciel with a big smile on his face. He got up from the bed and put on the slippers he had left on the carpet. The boy waited for his brother to get ready and they left the room.

"Where is mother, by the way?"

"Dunno. It's early, and it's Sunday."

He had to jog to reach his older brother, and when he did he grabbed his arm. He didn't understood the sudden change on his mood.

"Ciel, are you angry?"

The boy huffed and stood still. He averted his eyes when his little brother stared at him. When he looked at him with those lamb eyes he couldn't get mad at him.

"Not with you."

"What is it then?"

It wasn't fair to blame him because he hadn't chosen to be sick. Ciel inhaled and moved his hand away.

"It's just that father is always busy, and mother is always with you" he muttered in an undertone. He rubbed the place where his brother had dug his thin fingers, when he wanted he had enough strength. "And we can't play as much as before, the tutors are giving me more homework, and it's cold outside."

"I'm sorry."

Ciel looked up to his brother and shook his head. He knew he wasn't being fair at all.

"I didn't want you to feel bad."

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

The little child hiccuped and turned his back on his older brother. He fixed his eyes on the green terrains that extended as far as he could see. Ciel followed him in silence to the picture window in the middle of the hall. They stood in silence, each one lost in his own thoughts. Ciel didn't move away when his brother entwined their fingers and grabbed his hand.

* * *

"Elizabeth, don't run like that!"

Frances Midford closed her gloved hand over the air. With her little lemongrass dress flowing behind her, the blonde girl got away from the carriage. She rolled her eyes and took the hand offered by the Phantomhive butler.

"Thank you, Tanaka. Can you take care of the carriage?"

"Of course, madam. The Earl and the Countess are waiting in the breakfast solarium. May I retire?"

"Yes, I know my way there."

"Have a nice afternoon, the Countess ordered some new tea varieties and pastries."

"She always has a good taste."

The woman held her hat in place with one hand and held her purse with the other. She wore a green set consisting on a white blouse, a green bottle skirt, and a dark jacket fitted at the waist. Her ash blonde hair was combed and held in place in a tight top knot. The woman adjusted her black leather gloves and went to the manor entrance. The door was already being held open by a young footman with a fitted uniform. The boy nodded with a smile on her face and Frances took off her hat. When he opened his mouth to ask for anything else, the woman waved her hand. She fixed her green eyes in the family portrait and a smile crossed her features for half a second. Elizabeth was right before her, petting the family dog.

"Elizabeth, those aren't manners of a girl of your status."

"But mother, he's so fluffy!"

Frances squinted her eyes but conceded the girl some minutes more. Meanwhile, she inspected her surroundings. The entrance hall was impolute as always, with scarce decorations and the usual landscape paintings hanging from the walls. From the servant's ale reached her ears a low murmur and she nodded to herself. Of course, her brother knew how to take care of one's house. She went to her daughter and fixed one of the ribbons on her hair.

"Come, you can pet him later, I'm sure your cousins can't wait to see you."

"Neither do I!"

The little girl ran to the staircase giggling and Frances held another scold in her mouth. It had been a month since they had visited them, so of course the child was excited. The woman watched her as she climbed the stairs with her thin legs covered in thick white thighs. It wouldn't kill her not to quarrel her daughter for an afternoon.

* * *

Ciel took another strawberry jam pastry and munched slowly. Playing pretend included everything, from the way he had to speak, to the things he ate. It was nice to enjoy a calm Sunday like that. He was sitting next to his mother, his father presided the polished wooden table; his brother was at Vincent's left, and then Aunt Frances and Elizabeth. As usual. It was a miracle that their parents hadn't caught them yet. He choked with the sweet when Elizabeth tried to feed his brother a pastry. The child blushed deeply and their cousin giggled happy. It was quite easy to entertain Lizzie, and as much as Ciel liked her, it was nice to spend an afternoon pretending. It was just that she could be too intense with everything. The adults were chatting about their things and he was starting to be bored. He made eye contact with his brother and cousin and the other children rolled their eyes.

"Uncle Vincent, can we go to play?"

The Earl stopped his conversation and looked down to the blonde girl. He smiled at her with kindness.

"Of course, Elizabeth. I know how boring these reunions can be for you three."

"Thanks!"

The girl got up and grabbed her cousin by his hand.

"I have a new hand game to teach you, Ciel, Paula showed it-"

Ciel blinked with perplexity. It was odd to hear someone else being called by his name. But they were still playing pretend and he had to stay _in character_. He cleaned his hands with a napkin before he followed the other two.

"And be careful with Sebastian, don't let him swallow anything" added Rachel as they left the room. Without the children, it suddenly became quiet. The young woman giggled and patted her husband's hand with affection. "Did you notice, didn't you?"

"Of course, I wonder if Elizabeth did."

Frances sipped her tea and left the teacup on its saucer.

"These two look like two drops of water, it's just a matter of time that one of them fail impersonating each other."

Vincent peered at his older sister and, slowly, a smile appeared on her lips. The Earl chuckled as he shook his head. He had to concede Rachel a point whenever she said they were more like him. Frances and him had never played pretend like that, but he used to be the troublemaker one.

* * *

Elizabeth Midford was a blonde girl, a bit taller than her cousins, who wore her long blonde locks gathered in two pigtails. She laid her back on the carpet that covered all the floor of the play room and stared at the creamy coloured ceiling. When she heard the rumble of paws trotting over the carpet, it was too late to cover her face. She laughed and rolled over the floor trying to pet the borzoi. Ciel let out a chuckle from his seat a couple of feet away. He watched as his cousin got up and cleaned her face with one hand. His brother sat at her side and didn't miss the chance of petting the black dog too.

"Sebastian, come here."

The dog turned his head to him and tilted it. His tail wagged from side to side with enthusiasm, and the hound sneezed. Elizabeth got up and circled his neck with her arms.

"Is he catching a cold?"

"He does that when he gets excited" explained Ciel when he got up and went to their side. It was a miracle that Lizzie hadn't discovered them yet. He touched the dog's snout and smiled when Sebastian sneezed again. "With all that fur I doubt he can catch a cold."

"Ciel" she called looking over her shoulder. The child blinked and looked at them. "Can we get a blanket for him?"

"I dunno."

For a second, Elizabeth stared at the both of them with a puzzled look on her round face. The next one, she was hugging the borzoi and burying her face in the soft, black fur. When she looked up her eyes were starting to get watery. Both brothers looked at each other and twitched their mouths. That had been a fault on Ciel's plan, because he was more accustomed to treat with the girl. Being his fiancee and all, whatever that meant _exactly_.

"Hey, Lizzie, don't get like that."

"It was just a joke."

"Is it funny to trick me, huh?"

Ciel huffed and looked at his feet. Near Elizabeth, his little brother caressed her hand with affection. The girl didn't move away but she looked tense.

"We were just playing pretend. It worked with mother."

"Once."

"But why did you try to fool me?"

"Come on, we weren't trying to make fun of you" that time it was his brother who spoke in a soft tone. Ciel wouldn't admit it out loud, but maybe his brother was better when treating with her. At least he knew how to avoid her weepings. "You spot us rather easily."

"Ciel always agrees, no matter the thing I propose."

The boy smiled at her and stretched his limbs.

"That's because you have good ideas, Lizzie."

The girl smiled slowly and wiped her watery eyes with one hand. She grabbed each boy by their hands. They went to a wooden table near the window and sat there. Sebastian walked behind them with long steps, still wagging his tail around.

"Now, what have you been doing these weeks? It's been a month since I don't see you two, you silly geese."

* * *

The Earl was sitting in his bureau, revising some documents. It was late in the evening, and hours had passed since Frances and Elizabeth had parted. Their visit had managed to keep him distracted for some hours. But he knew himself; even when he had been talking about preparations for his older son's birthday, his mind was mulling about the last reunion. Vincent got up from his seat and let out a sigh. He had barely slept the last night. Nor the night before, neither the other. He knew he could talk with Rachel, but the last thing she needed was to be worried. No, the Watchdog duties were his and his alone. His wife knew things, of course, she knew _who_ she was marrying. But he wouldn't let her get marred by that. It was his _leash_ , and his alone. The man opened the top drawer of the desk and looked for some clean paper. He didn't understand why he hadn't been informed about the dog head in the warehouse. But he trusted Diederich. They knew each other since their young days in Weston; they had parted ways when Dee joined the military, but he had found in him one of his most loyal informants. And friends. Vincent picked up a clean quill and started to compose a letter for the warehouse chief. He had to go to the city soon but it would be a family trip. He got up and pulled the cord near the desk. He needed Tanaka to fetch some things. The man rested on the rich seat again and contemplated the empty bureau. After five minutes someone knocked at the door.

"Come in."

Tanaka entered the room with a polite bow, his left hand carrying a little candleholder, his right one still over the doorknob. He went to the desk and waited for the Earl to voice his requirements.

"I need you to send this letter tomorrow, to the fifth warehouse in the London Docks. Give it to a footman you trust. And, just in case, tell the gatekeeper to do an extra round at midnight."

The butler nodded, took the letter from the desk, and saved it inside his jacket.

"Anything else, my Lord?"

"Tell the same to the ground keepers" Vincent rubbed his eyelids with his index and thumb in slow circles. He blinked and looked at the older man again. "Don't spread it too far, I don't want anyone slipping their tongue and causing a ruckus. That would be an inconvenience."

When the earl got up from his desk and walked to the door, Tanaka went after him. He held the wooden panel open for his master and examined him from head to toe. The young man was exhausted to say the least. The butler closed the door behind them and walked before him.

"I'll retire to my chambers now, bring me a calming brew."

"Understood."

The candles shed a soft light around and gave the walls a warmer tone. It also made the shadows longer, Vincent noted as he walked behind the tall man. He needed a night of sleep, just one would be fine.

* * *

* From E. A. Poe's "The Raven".


	13. 18th November, 1885

He flipped another page of the dissection guide he was reading and lifted his eyes from the paper. The parlor was quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. He took his boots off the ebony desk and left the book on top of it. Maybe it was _too_ quiet. It wasn't like he was waiting _eagerly_ for his fellow neighbours to die. But he was getting _bored_. The mortician resumed his lecture in silence. It had been six days since he had taken care of Vincent's son, and five since their last reunion. Undertaker got up from his seat and left the book opened on top of the desk. It wasn't a treatment that could be discarded away, like a painkiller. He went to the front door and placed a little wooden sign which read "Closed". Then he walked to the door in front of him, at the right side of the dark desk, and crossed it. Despite his impaired vision he knew the building enough to not need any light. The man reached the lower floor and turned left to the room where he stored the chemicals and substances he needed for his job. The room was dark and had a strong smell. He strolled between the arranged shelves and located the wooden box he was looking for. His hands turned and touched the wood until he found two little buttons. A click echoed in the room and he smiled with satisfaction to himself. There were two vials more, wrapped in velvet cloth. Undertaker closed the box and went upstairs, checking twice the warehouse door. He had given the dose to the child six days ago, it was the next day when he had to give him another. A week between the first two doses, and then ten days more between the second and the third. The mortician went to his desk and saved the box inside a drawer. Once he locked it, he saved the little silver key in one of his deep pockets.

* * *

Angelina stared at her reflection in the foggy mirror in front of her. The warm water washed away the blood on her hands and the woman sighed. Those shifts in the hospital were killing her. The doctor closed the tap and drained her hands with a clean towel. Apparently, February was perfect for conceiving children, or so it seemed. The young woman removed some red bangs from her face and combed her hair with her fingers. Maybe when that shift ended she could leave directly to her house. She left the bathroom and entered the medical room. One of the nurses that had aided her was scrubbing the floor and the air had a strong metallic smell. The other nurse was gathering all the blood stained clothes and throwing them in a basket.

"She was the last patient for this afternoon" mumbled the doctor when she picked a schedule with all her patients' names. She crossed the last one in the table and held it under her arm.

"We managed to stabilize her in time, miss Durness, and faster than the last week. You are truly improving each day."

"Thanks, Charlotte."

The woman went to her tray and examined the blood stained tools. Her mahogany eyes followed the elder nurse who kept gathering the towels and sheets.

"When you are done with those, fetch the tools and clean them with alcohol, Hannah."

"As you say, miss."

"I have some paperwork to fill before I leave, have a good evening."

She left the surgery room and walked around the tall creamy halls until she reached her office. She stared at the tinted window opened in the middle of the wood and took a breath before she went in. The woman sat at her desk and picked a clean paper to copy the names of all the patients she had attended in that shift. According to the desk clock in front of her it was only a quarter to eight. Not as early as she had expected, but far earlier than the past days. She signed the document and placed it inside the archive named "November, 1886". She only wanted to hit the hay.

* * *

"But why do I have to study what people did centuries ago?"

Vincent looked down to his older son. He composed a smile and ruffled the boy's hair. They were sitting in the library and the Earl had a leather bound book on his lap.

"Because it's important, it serves you to understand why the world is the way it is and, the most important thing: it serves us to not stumble upon the same stones."

Ciel pouted and picked the notebook he was using to answer the questions his history tutor had ordered him.

"Hm. That sounds fine, but I don't like to study all those kings and queens. The only thing they were doing was battling all the time between each other."

"Don't be so stubborn and read me the next question. A little man of your importance needs to study all these things, plus you want to be well prepared for Weston, don't you?"

The boy looked up to his father and a smile adorned his face. Of course he wanted to be ready for Weston, he couldn't wait to reach the age to enter the prestigious school.

"And do I need to know this to help you with the company? When I grow up I want to do it."

"Mathematics and geography are more suited for it, but yes, this is important too. Now," Vincent opened the book again from the page he had been marking with one finger. "What do you need to answer about the Battle of Bosworth Field?"

"When did it happen, who fought against who, and its consequences. All in less than five lines."

"Do you have to mention it was part of the Wars of the Roses?"

"No. Just those points."

The Earl looked for the paragraph he needed and peered at his son. The boy was opening the ink bottle and had placed a clean paper on top of the desk. Vincent cleared his throat.

"The Battle of Bosworth Field was fought on 22nd of August, 1485, between…"

* * *

The Countess of Phantomhive was enjoying some time alone by herself. She was sitting in the breakfast solarium and her dark blue eyes were fixed in the terrains at her feet. The poetry book she had been reading rested at her side in the two seaters couch. The young woman rested her back against the seat and gathered her knees on top of it. When she was alone she didn't have to keep all those stern manners. A clock gave the hour and she counted the chimes to herself. Eight o'clock. It wasn't that _late_ , yet the sky had a purple tone more typical of a closed night. The moon appeared between the treetops and shed its light over the state. Despite its diminishing phase, the satellite emitted enough light to make the shapes recognizable. Rachel bent until she reached a near desk and turned the key of her lamp. The flame grew brighter and she sighed satisfied. It made a comfortable contrast with the darkness outside the room. She gathered the book she had been reading and went to the door. The woman pulled a cord that hung from the wall and went back to her seat. The dinner was soon and she was starting to be hungry.

"Lady, do you need something?"

The door opened some minutes later and Harriet appeared in the threshold. The brown haired maiden walked to her side with diligence.

"Take away the porcelain, please. Is the dinner ready?"

"Yes, ma'am. The chef made a hearty soup to start, and fish as a second plate" the maiden explained as she picked up the empty tea cup and the silver trail. The woman turned off the oil lamp. She left the room followed by the countess, who carried her little book tucked under her arm. "And there is pudding for dessert, with seasonal fruit."

"That sounds delicious. I was starting to be hungry. Did you checked the children as I asked you?"

"Yes, the little lords were studying, one in the library with Lord Vincent, and the other in his room. Do you want me to call them to the dining room?"

Rachel composed a bright smile as she walked behind the woman.

"Worry not, they will be there by themselves. It's food what we are talking about."

* * *

The child moved the food around on his plate. First the mashed potatoes that accompanied the cod fillet. Next, the steamed vegetables at their side. His cheerful mood was gone and replaced by tiredness. He took his glass of water and sipped it, cleaning his mouth after. His older brother was sitting at their father's right and they were chatting about his homework. He was supposed to had been doing his own; yet he had ended reading a book he had taken from the library.

"Is everything fine?"

He looked up to his mother and nodded. When his gaze met Rachel's, he looked away with haste. The woman caressed his hand with tenderness.

"You have eaten no more than a couple of bites."

Ciel stared at him from the other side of the table and tilted his head a bit. Their father spoke with a flat tone before he could say anything.

"Did you finish your homework? Remember that I told you I'd take a look at them after dinner."

The boy sighed and averted his eyes when his cheeks reddened.

"I, um- I found a volume of Wordsworth's and Coleridge's poems *." He lowered his head and spoke in an undertone. Never before had the embroidered tablecloth been so _interesting_. "And I didn't realize it was that l-late. I'm sorry, father."

Vincent rested his hands on the table and straightened his back. He didn't really want to quarrel his son for reading, if he had sneaked out the house it would be another thing, but reading… Still, when he spoke his voice sounded severe and cold.

"I've told you countless times you can read in your spare time, but you have a time for study too. And how many times do I have to tell you not to read those stories? You have nightmares."

"It's been some time since I don't have them..."

"That's not the matter now. When you are done here, go to the library and get ready everything you need to finish them, I'll join you later."

Rachel kept munching in silence at her husband's side. Vincent was pale and had visible circles under his eyes; the past nights he had been awake at her side, staring at the ceiling in complete silence. The countess left her napkin on her lap and frowned her thin brows.

"Dear, even if it's true that he needs to focus, he's been sick not long ago. I'm sure he will have everything ready by tomorrow when the tutor arrives."

The earl exhaled by his nose and inhaled again. His fingers crumpled the napkin he was holding, and then he released it. Everything was fine, Rachel had a point, and he knew his son wasn't lazy. His voice sounded more collected when he spoke again.

"It's true. But you have to do as you are told, remember it. Now finish your dinner and we'll go to the library."

Ciel listened in silence. He would have earned a bigger quarrel if he hadn't done his homework. Yet it was true that his father had helped him, and his little brother had insisted in studying by himself. The older child took some air and looked up from his empty plate.

"I got the book for him, knowing you didn't like it, father."

His little brother fixed his eyes on him with surprise. It was one of the few times he had interceded in his name the past weeks. Vincent drifted his gaze to his older son.

"Yet knowing that, you did it anyway."

"Yes."

Vincent left the crumpled napkin on the desk near his plate and rested his back against the seat. For a second, Ciel thought he had really earned a scold, but the young man twitched his mouth in half a smile.

"No more playing with Sebastian in the gardens for the rest of the week, the both of you."

And despite his calm tone, the child wasn't wrong.

* * *

It was late when the door of the bedroom squeaked on its hinges and closed with a low thud. She didn't look up from her poetry book when she heard footsteps approaching the bed. The countess flipped a page and kept reading as if she was still alone. Her husband sighed and went to the dressing room. Rachel placed a cloth bookmark on the book and held it against her chest. She was resting against soft cushions placed behind her and a heavy duvet covered her to her waist. The mattress creaked a little when Vincent sat at her side.

"Are you mad at me?"

"You were too harsh."

She left the light yellow book on the nightstand and turned off the lamp that rested on top. The flame died and the room became darker. The earl got under the duvet too and left his rings on the nightstand at his side of the bed.

"And I'll apologize to them tomorrow."

Rachel looked at him biting her lower lip, her deep blue eyes filled with worry. Her voice sounded wobbly when she kept talking.

"Is everything fine? I hope you are not hiding anything from me, Vincent."

He got closer to her and circled his arms around her waist. Rachel rested her forehead against his neck and closed her eyes.

"There's nothing for you to worry about. I promise."

"What about the reunions?"

"They are going as the usual. Rachel," he sat against the cushions gathered behind them and took the young woman with him. She drew her knees up and rested her weight on him. "I don't lie to you."

"I take your word, dear. I hope you can rest tonight."

Vincent left a kiss on her forehead, then another on her nose. He held her closer and moved on his side of the bed until the duvet covered the two of them.

"I hope so. Good night."

Rachel nuzzled her chin against his neck and took a deep breath. She was tired and she didn't know why exactly.

"Good night…"

* * *

* _Lyrical Ballads_ was a joint publication between William Wordsworth (1770–1850) and Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834). It was published for the first time in 1798 and included some of their famous works like "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Coleridge, and "The Nightingale" by Wordsworth. A two-volume compilation was published between 1800 and 1802.


	14. 19th November, 1885

The dawn bathed the city with its soft light, falling over the thick fog and gleaming on the empty windows. It was early and the only people around the streets were hurried workers going to their jobs, some footmen making errands, and lamplighters checking the street lamps. He hadn't slept that night; he didn't _need_ to, yet he enjoyed those common activities. His footsteps led him back to his parlor in no time. Except for him, the street was empty. The mortician stopped in front of his door and looked down to his boots when he stepped on something soft that he had mistaken for part of the pavement. Undertaker twitched his mouth and bent over as he searched for his keys inside his pocket. The severed head of an unknown hound rolled to the door when he gave it a tentative kick. _Thud_. He looked at both sides of the street and stood in silence. Then he picked the head with a disgusted expression on his features. _Click_. The key made its job and the door opened with a creak. He stepped inside the building and closed the wooden panel as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't found a severed dog head in front of his parlor. It was too early for the garbagemen to start to clean the streets; it would had been a problem if anyone other than him had found it. Undertaker rested his weight against the closed door and clenched his hand over the dirty, sticky fur. With slow and rigid movements, he went to the stairs that led to the basement of the building.

* * *

Ciel woke up with a slight jump. It felt like he had fallen on his back. The boy rubbed his eyelids and turned his back on the closed curtains. After some minutes of useless attempts of sleep again, he laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. He had no clue about what time it was, although it was Friday and he had classes to take. The child huffed to remove some unkempt locks from his face. A yawn escaped his mouth when he finally sat on the edge of the bed, the heavy duvet still wrapped around him, and the boy covered his mouth with one hand. Starting the last night, his brother and him wouldn't play with Sebastian for the rest of the week, and it was his fault. And only his, because he had decided to take the blame for something he hadn't done. For some seconds Ciel stayed there, sitting at the edge of his bed, his bare feet hanging from the mattress. He didn't understand why had he lied to his father to help his brother, because the result had been a shared punishment for the both of them. He got up from the bed and put on his soft white slippers before he left the room. The hallway was well illuminated thanks to the light pouring from the windows; he wouldn't had said it was November if it wasn't for the chill air that pricked his skin. The boy wandered around with slow movements until he reached his brother's room. Ciel frowned when he laid his hand on the doorknob and held his breath. The pale sun bathed his back and warmed his skin a little. He stepped inside the room without knocking before; it was impolite to do so, but it was his little brother. If he could interrupt him at will, why wouldn't he do the same?

"Hey-"

His voice diminished when he stepped found his brother still asleep. The only source of light was a little slit under the closed curtains. Ciel gulped and took a breath to calm himself. The younger child laid there, motionless; yet his breathing was steady and low. Once he reached the bed, the boy placed a moist palm on his brother's forehead. He was too cold for someone as covered by clothes as him: the bed cover, the duvet, the sheets, the nightgown… The boy muttered something in dreams and Ciel frowned when he didn't understood it. He took a look around the room and laid his eyes on the thin book resting in the nightstand. For a second he mistook it for one of the many books their father had forbidden him to read. He got closed and examined it at the same time he removed his hand from his brother's forehead. It was just a children's book of nursery rhymes and Ciel sighed with relief. He was about to turn back to his sleeping brother when he grabbed his wrist. His slim fingers dug his skin and he gasped: he was _definitely_ too cold. The older boy held a surprised squeal in his throat when his brother stared at him with wide eyes.

"No-! C-Ciel?"

The child blinked with perplexity and hiccuped. In his rushed awakening, he had sat against the pillows placed around the headboard and had yanked Ciel's wrist.

"Yes, it's me, now let me go!"

Ciel rubbed his fingers around his right wrist and let out a little whimper of protest. His brother drew his knees to his chest and stood still. His tousled dark hair framed his face and accentuated his pallor. He had soft circles under his bright eyes and his lips looked dry, Ciel observed when he sat at his side. Once his breath regained its regular pace, he stroked the child's arm.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Are you alright? You were having a nightmare."

The younger boy ran his fingers through his hair trying to give it some order. With drowsy movements he got up from the bed and parted the curtains. He looked over his shoulder to Ciel, who was rubbing his wrist again and stopped as soon as he was caught.

"You told me I didn't hurt you."

"It's nothing. Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged his shoulders and knelt to search for his slippers. He used to leave them under the bed. The child put them on and took a breath as he straightened his back.

"No. It's nothing."

"I have been having bad dreams too. If you want to talk about it, you know, here I am."

"I appreciate it, but I prefer to… just let it sit."

Ciel tilted his head and a loose lock fell over his nose bridge. That time he didn't blew to remove it. The pale sun bathed his brother and gave him a quite lively look. He got up from the bed and went to the picture window to open it. A chill breeze moved his hair and he wrinkled his nose with distaste.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, it seems to be early. No one came to wake me up."

"I'd say it's ten to eight in the morning. The weather is getting bad again. I hope it doesn't rain."

The boy stretched his limbs and let out a high pitched sound as he did. He got closer to his older brother and sniffled when the cold air reached his face. The gardens were full of people working despite the early hour and the boys watched for a while as the servants went from one point to other. They carried things in and out the house, cleaned the dead leaves gathered over the dirt roads and the paved ones… Ciel jumped when his brother sneezed loudly and tugged his nightgown.

"Is it too cold?"

"Hm. A little," he replied while he was rubbing his face when one sleeve. His arm fell to his side and he waddled to the door. "I don't like this season, you know. The only good things it has are the warm sweets."

He didn't remember anything about his dream, but still he felt an emptiness in his chest. He took a deep breath and sneezed again. At his side, Ciel took one of his hands with unsure movements. They halted in front of the door in silence, their eyes fixed in each other. Finally he was the one who broke eye contact, looking at his feet.

"I'm fine, it's just a sneeze. Ciel, by the way…"

The boy waited for him to continue, his blue eyes fixed on his face with a solemn look on them. His brother's voice became lower and distilled abashment.

"Thanks for yesterday. Why did you lie to father? You never do."

"What kind of big brother I'll be if I left you alone when you are having a harsh time? But, you owe me one. Remember it."

Ciel placed a hand on the doorknob and stood still when the other child embraced him. His thin arms tightened around his abdomen and he buried his cold nose between his shoulders.

* * *

He gathered his notebook and placed it inside a drawer in silence. He didn't remember the classes that long, or maybe it was just that he had been sick too long and his memory failed him. He peered at Ciel when his brother went to his side to save his own things.

"Do you need help with math?"

"Only if you do with history."

"Deal-"

"Young Lord, by the way, I didn't ask about your health, excuse my manners."

The boy turned to the elder teacher and gave him a bright smile. The past days he had felt cold but he hadn't coughed or sneezed more than the usual, so it counted as being fine for him. The old man kept saving his leather bound books in his case.

"I'm better, thanks. I'm sorry I had to skip all those classes."

"It seems like your brother kept you up to date with the lessons. I wish I had more students like you two." He closed the case with a couple of loud clicks from the locks and smoothed the wrinkles on his brown vest. His hair was grey and he had started to get bald, not as much as their mathematics teacher; but at least the man versed in calculus still kept his dark brown tone. "You'll do great things in Weston, I'm sure."

Ciel closed the drawer and went to his desk a little unsure about what to do. He stood there with an awkward pose while his brother was saving his things. If only he wasn't that picky about order.

"Of course we'll do" retorted the older child with a cheerful tone. He watched as the old man looked for his pocket watch and waited half a minute more. Then he looked up to him and smiled under his long moustache.

"You can go now, little Lords. I'll see you two in the next lesson. Don't forget to read the passages we'll discuss the next week."

"We won't, sir. Have a nice afternoon."

The child went to his brother's side and they left the room when the old man held the door open for them. He waved his hand politely and followed Ciel down the corridors. It was six o'clock and it was dark outside. Except for some oil lamps hung around by the servants. Inside the house, the hall was filled with warm light coming from the sconces placed along the corridor.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm hungry."

"Mother told you to wait until dinner."

"That's true."

"And there you are heading for the kitchens."

Ciel smiled with mischief and increased his pace to a slight trot.

"Now that you are better, what about a race? The winner chooses the treat."

The boy shrugged and kept his regular pace as they walked down the corridor.

"I dunno, you know that I don't like to run that much…"

The older child widened his smile and kept trotting at some distance from him. As if he could fool him with that poor excuse. His health didn't allow him to run as much as he wanted; but if there was something he loved more than sweets, it was games. And, _how_ he dreaded to lose. Ciel still regretted that _one_ time he won a chess game. The boy snapped from his thoughts when his brother ran past him and his laughs filled the hall. He chased him down the corridor between laughs, until they reached the staircase that led to the main hall. They halted at the edge of the stairs and kept laughing between breaths.

"I said the kitchens."

"Do you want to-" a clear laugh shook him and the boy tried to take a bigger breath. The laugh came out as a little chortle and the children kept laughing between their teeth. Once he regained his composure, he raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to fall again?"

"That happened once and it was Sebastian's fault. He was wet and the stairs were slippery."

"He was wet because you had been playing in the rain."

Ciel gave him a little blow on the shoulder.

"Whose side are you on?"

* * *

"My Lord, he finally arrived. He's waiting in the library."

"Nice. Thanks, Tanaka. Tell him I'll be there in a minute."

Vincent got up from his seat and left the letters and documents ordered in two piles. One for the documents he had already read, other for the untouched ones. The Earl didn't look up when the door closed behind his butler and he kept doing his paperwork. It felt like he had spent only fifteen minutes in his bureau, but the clock on top of the desk marked clearly the hour. Six past five. He had left the table as soon as he had finished his meal, went to his office, and hadn't leave it from that point. The man left the room and strided to the library. He focused on the sound of his footsteps over the floor as a cheap distraction. He hadn't receive any response from the warehouse chief yet, and Lady Svetlana was disappeared from the map. While it was regular for her, the nobleman was worried for her safety: being a Watchdog's ally had its ups and downs. Vincent opened the library door in silence and stepped inside. Undertaker was sitting in a couch near the window, the same spot where they had talked before he treated his son for the first time.

"Good evening, Earl."

"You arrived soon."

"Better early than late. I know I'm not usually punctual, but concede me some credit this time."

Vincent went to his side and sat on the velvet couch.

"Do you want anything?"

"No. I'm fine, thanks. I had a tea before I left the parlor."

The Earl tried to make eye contact with him. His words were the usual, but there was something odd in his tone. It wasn't seriousness nor stiffness, no; if Vincent didn't know him from years ago, he would had said the mortician was worried. But he hadn't seen him even _concerned_ , so he couldn't really tell. The other man breathed from his nose and his lips sketched a smile.

"Any news from the docks?"

"They hadn't replied yet."

"And Lady Svetlana? Herr Diederich said he was going to contact her before she left to the Old Continent."

"Neither."

Undertaker nodded in silence and drew a finger to his mouth. He dug his long nail in the flesh and hummed to himself. At his side, Vincent gave up trying to read his expression and rested his back against the backseat. The young earl wandered his sight over the shelves around him.

"She isn't involved with the warehouse incident, nor with Lau's den."

"How do you know?"

"I went to her place last night. She didn't left her house in the city."

"Why? How…?"

"I couldn't sleep and I had my own hypothesis."

"Did you really think she could be involved?"

"Earl, your position is an important one. It's not just that the Watchdog is the guardian of the Underground, it's who holds all those wolves by the reins. You're clever, I never doubted it."

"Where are you heading?"

"You know it's not the first time your family receives threats and it won't be the last. And don't make me talk about treason."

Vincent examined his face, looking for any gesture that let him know what was he thinking, but it was useless. Undertaker got up from his seat and started to meander around the room.

"If you have something important to tell me just spit it out. It makes me nervous when you start to do that."

The mortician stopped in front of Vincent and looked down to the earl, his head slightly tilted to his left.

"I don't know what's going on, but _they_ do. I say they because even if we don't have any clue and we are busy with that loose criminal from Germany, it's clear as water that there has to be more than one person involved. Who knows, maybe someone doesn't need her dog anymore and wants a mascot with a better _behaviour_."

The young man opened his mouth to reply but the mortician waved a hand in front of his face with contempt.

"I found one head in my door this morning, Earl. First your warehouse, then Lau. Now me. Not many people know about our affiliations." Undertaker spoke in a hurried tone with his voice devoid of emotion. "Just because hers is the hand that feeds, don't discard her too soon. She-" he stopped his rambling and his voice became a low undertone at the same time he averted his eyes for a second. "She would have kept _every_ option in…"

"Enough. I told you not to mention _her_."

"You _asked_ me. Besides, you can't order me around."

The mortician fixed his eyes in Vincent and clicked his tongue with disapproval.

"I'm not in the mood for this quarrel, Undertaker."

The earl slouched in his seat and entwined his hands over his vest. Finally, the tall man parted his lips in a wide smile full of sharp teeth. When he spoke again his voice croaked in his usual tone.

"It was just an idea."

"I know."

Undertaker breathed from his nose and sat on the couch again.

"I wouldn't say no to a tea." The man fixed his eyes in the ceiling and followed the flickering shadows that danced around, casted by the oil lamp in a nearby desk. The sun had set one hour and half ago, more or less. The twilight had faded away without notice and when he had arrived to the manor the moon already hung from the sky. His eyes moved to the lamp and he stared at it in silence. He gained nothing irritating Vincent and he knew they had their disagreements despite their usual fondness. He cleared his throat and glanced at the young man sitting at his side. Yes, the best option was to swallow his ideas and bury the hatchet. "How are Rachel and the kids these days?"

"Well, she is still trying to come with anything to thank you. And the boys are doing fine."

"That doesn't sound too convincing."

Vincent bit his inner cheek and ran a hand over his face.

"I had to punish them and I don't like to do it. It's not that they are spoiled children, but I don't like to be harsh with them."

"They are just children, is normal for them to give you trouble. Enjoy it when it lasts, people always complain about how fast they grow up."

The young man nodded and curved his lips in a little smile. It was a mere prattle, but it served to change the subject and move away from the early argument. He went to the door and pulled the cord to ring the bell in the servant's panel. A tea would be perfect despite the hour.

"How many doses are left?"

"Two."

"But he's been healthy these days."

"I told you, it's not a treatment to be discarded the next day."

"Why wouldn't you tell me what is it about?"

"Because I know you trust me enough."


	15. 21st November, 1885

Diederich was sitting at the table next to Vincent. At his side was Randall, then Undertaker. Next to the mortician, Lau ate his soup in silence. Again, Lady Svetlana was nowhere to be seen. At Vincent's right was Rachel, and next to her, their two children. Ciel and his brother whispered to each other and they gave significant glances to the door; it was clear that they were bored. He finished the soup and cleaned his mouth with his napkin. The atmosphere felt thick and dense, as if some tension floated between all of them but no one talked to disperse it. He peered at Vincent and twitched his mouth: how many nights had he spent sleepless? Diederich gestured to a young blond footman and the teenager went to his side.

"More wine, please."

"Yes, sir."

Vincent smiled mischievously and raised an eyebrow at him. Diederich felt how the tense atmosphere became a little lighter.

"Another one, Dee? I need you sober for later."

"It's my second one only."

"If you gave me a florin for every time I heard that…"

"As if you needed more money."

The young man pressed his lips in a thin line when he heard a low chortle at his right. He just sighed and waited for the footman to refill his glass cup, waving his hand when he filled it enough.

"Um, sir?"

Diederich looked in front of him and found the big blue eyes of the child fixed on him.

"Ciel always says you have travelled to a lot of places. Which one is your favorite?"

"Well…," he rested his back against his seat and drew his hand to his chin. He didn't have a favorite, now that he thought about it. "To be honest, I can't pick one, each place has its own charm."

"Hm. But between all of them, there isn't even one that-?"

"We can get a better answer asking him about regional dishes."

He glared at Undertaker but composed a smile. He _definitely_ knew how to put him on his nerves; yet he had a good point.

"I had to concede that."

"Then which one is the one with the best cuisine?"

Vincent looked up from his plate and lost the track of the conversation. It was too casual for them, his son was always timid with everyone; and there they were, all of them dining together. His family and some of the Evil Noblemen. The Earl searched for his wife's gaze and when they made eye contact Rachel let out a modest chuckle. They entwined their fingers under the table and the earl squeezed her hand with affection. It wasn't that bad.

* * *

Despite its good start, the reunion had been reduced to their usual arguments in the past month. The german criminal had finally been caught and Lau had seized the latest shipment that had arrived for the italians. Diederich had been right about the weaponry, but they hadn't enough clues to tie them to the German Army. Of course, it was the Underground what they were talking about. The mortician kept examining his nails in silence as the others discussed their options -ones _louder_ than others-. Unless he was asked to, he had nothing important to say. Undertaker rested his weight against the armchair where Vincent sat and stood there.

"Anyone has news about Lady Svetlana?"

It was Lau who asked that out of nowhere. The man cocked his head and slumped against the velvet back of his usual seat. Randall sat in front of him in a single armchair and Diederich sat at Lau's side with an upright posture.

"What's the matter about her?"

"She said she was preparing for a trip, yet she's nowhere to be seen."

"Are you implying that she-?" Vincent tensed in his seat and frowned his eyebrows. The man let a long breath from his mouth and gestured to the chinese man to continue.

"I mean, the facts are all around. Excuse me for interrupting, Earl. But one does not need two weeks for a simple trip to the Continent."

"What about the reunions she attended?" added Randall with a dead serious tone. According to the mortician, the noble woman hadn't left his house the night before he had found a dog's head in front of his business. Undertaker looked at him from Vincent's side with a veiled smile. When the commissioner looked away, he let out a choked laugh. Finally they moved forward anything _interesting_.

"A month ago she went to one ball organized by Aleister Chambers. Despite his eccentricities, to name them anyhow, I don't think he's involved in the plot" retorted Undertaker while he was coiling his braid between his fingers.

"Why?"

"He gains nothing if the Watchdog disappears. I mean, it's not the first time he's been involved in kidnapping and human traffick scandals. And it has been taken care off."

Randall twitched his mouth but replied nothing. He understood that the Watchdog was a necessary evil, a gatekeeper to the Underground, and Vincent was under direct orders from Her Majesty. But none of those facts eased the disgust that crossed his face when he remembered that they had a current kidnapping case open. Human traffick networks were far too vast for his taste. In fact, if it depended on him, they were closed long ago. But like many other things, they gave _money_. The stern man fixed the sleeves of his jacket.

"Wasn't one of the latests parties she attended a charity ball hosted by the Baron Kelvin?"

The Earl fixed his eyes in Lau when he spoke and tapped the arm of his seat with his fingers in a slow rhythm. He knew Kelvin personally, they had met two years ago and, despite his shyness, the man had looked pretty normal. He kept a meek attitude towards him during their encounter, avoiding eye contact and honeying his words.

"No. It's been some time since he doesn't celebrate anything. Rumours said he's terminally ill and his wife has left him."

"Well if he was dead we would knew it. Is he worth our time in this?"

Vincent rested his chin on the back on his hand when he relaxed his posture and placed an elbow on top of the seat's arm. He didn't know if Kelvin was worth anything, the only important things about him were his charity actions, and they were highly praised by the general public. Aleister Chambers was on a whole different level. He remembered him from Weston: despite all the trouble he caused, he ended up being a Prefect. And in the high spheres where he moved around he was no different. No matter how many scandals marred him, he kept being praised by the public and had a special place. Vincent discarded him too and faced Diederich, who had been in silence since they had started to weigh options.

"Dee, have you heard anything new from Chlaus?"

"The last thing I heard from him was that he was leaving to France."

"Then we know the same. I might need him here soon, he's always travelling all around and it's difficult to follow his trace. Yet he always comes when called. Back to the other topic, sir Randall, you said that the kidnappings could be traced back to orphanages, no?"

"Indeed."

"Exclusively to orphanages?"

"No. Not at all. But it's a start."

Rubbing his eyelids with his index and thumb, Vincent sighed. They were nowhere near the entrance to the rabbit hole and they had already found a dead end.

* * *

He was cold, that was the first thing he noticed as soon as he woke up. It had been a deep slumber without any dreams to disturb him, yet he felt tired as if he hadn't slept a wink. The child turned his back on the closed curtains and tugged the duvet around him. He felt safer when Sebastian slept with him, or when Ciel did. It had been months ago since the last time they had shared a room. He remembered it clearly. He hadn't been able to sleep because there was a heavy storm outside and he had sneaked on tiptoes to his brother's room. The child chuckled to himself and laid on his back; it was one of the few times he had managed to scare Ciel, and it hadn't been even on purpose. A little sigh left his lips when his soft laugh died. It was better if he tried to leave his mind empty and he focused in the faint sounds that reached his ears. The wind hit the windows and swayed the treetops of the nearby forest. Back and forth. His eyelids closed and he breathed from his mouth. It had been the same the last time Undertaker had given him the treatment. He fell asleep and rested without dreams, and his illness faded away. The mortician had explained him that there was still a dose left, yet he hadn't explained what was he giving him. It tasted sour and had a water-like consistency, no smell and no visible colour. But whatever it was, it worked, and he was grateful for it. Slowly, he drifted in another sleep without dreams. The little boy snuggled his face against the pillow he was circling with his thin arms. If _only_ , he thought, he could get rid of the cold.

* * *

The sun bathed the gardens in golden tones and reflected in the fountain water. The myriad of shining drops fell back to the pond in a never ending flow. Ciel smiled and turned back when he heard a clear laugh behind. There she was, Elizabeth wore a white and pink dress and her hair was tied in two high ponytails. She carried a brown basket under her arm and shrieked with delight.

"There! In the pond!"

"Ah?"

He followed her with enthusiasm when she bent over the stone pond and picked up a sky blue egg with white lines all over it. The easter egg fell inside her basket and the little girl tugged the boy's arm with a bright smile on her face. The sunlight got caught in her blonde locks and shone on her green eyes. Ciel smiled back to her and entwined their fingers before he started to run towards the gardens. He heard a bark coming from the house's entrance and he looked over his shoulder. The black borzoi ran down the marble stairs and followed them to the tall trimmered bushes. The boy's gaze went up over the house front and fixed on an open window. His little brother killed time reading inside his room, because his illness didn't allow him to play outside. Ciel frowned his brow and looked back to the swinging basket held by his cousin. Elizabeth had let his hand and had ran past him. She was inspecting the nearby bushes, with Sebastian wagging his tail at her side.

"Come here, Ciel! I think I found another-"

* * *

The child woke up with drowsy movements. Easter had been so many months ago… Ciel tugged the sheets around his small frame. A short yawn left his mouth and he rubbed his face with the sleeve of his nightgown. He still remembered the egg hunt, Elizabeth's joy, his little brother's hidden disgust because he couldn't had joined them. The boy laid on his stomach and sighed. His birthday was near and he didn't know what to ask for that year. His mind went back to that distant Easter day. The chocolates they had hidden in their rooms, when Elizabeth had kissed him in the cheek when no one was looking. If only he could freeze some moments in time to make them last forever.


	16. 26th November, 1885

A knock broke the night and she couldn't help the little jump that shook her. Another one, a little louder that time. It was late and there she was filling document after document. The clock marked nine past three in the morning. Angelina didn't like the night shifts: from the empty echoing halls to the aseptic atmosphere; mere things that wouldn't _bother_ her at all during the day. A third knock called for her and the doctor got up with an exasperated sigh. Her red hair fell over her face and she removed the loose bangs with a harsh movement of her hand. She reached the door and hesitated a second before she opened it with a stiff gesture. The hall was sunk in darkness and in front of her was a young, pale woman. She wore a brown coat some sizes bigger than hers firmly clutched with a hand over her chest. Her light blonde hair looked unkempt and some long locks fell over her face. It gave her a grim appearance surrounded by shadows as she was. Her lower lip quivered when she spoke, her voice low and shaken.

"Excuse me, m-ma'am. I h-heard y-y'a… My friend Marie t-told me-"

Angelina blinked with a puzzled look and looked past the shaking young woman; the hall was empty except for her. The doctor gave her a quick look from head to feet and shook her head with sadness. The coat failed to cover her wide belly under all the layers of frayed clothes she was wearing. She placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her inside the office. The room had a warm tone thanks to the yellow light pouring from an oil lamp placed on top of the long desk. Angelina sat the young woman in a chair and she went to her seat behind the table. She crossed her hands over the wooden surface and took a deep breath. In front of her, the unnamed woman rocked back and forth in the seat.

"Please, calm down. What's your name?"

"Anne. Ma'am I, um… I…"

"From four months, I can see that. What's the matter? I'd say you're carrying twins… Are they coming early?"

The blonde woman averted her eyes to her belly. She covered her mouth with one shaking hand and bent over. Her long hair hid her face and Angelina bit her lower lip.

"No, it's just that I can't- No, I don't… I can't take care of 'em, nor give 'em away. Ma'am you help women to give birth, don't y'a?"

"... Yes."

The doctor inspected every gesture the shivering woman did, from the way she rocked herself back and forth in her seat to her shaking hand when she smeared a long sleeve over her reddened face. The warm light from the lamp softened her features and gave her a younger look. Angelina coughed to clear her throat before she parted her lips.

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty nine."

Angelina averted her mahogany eyes. She fixed her gaze in the shadows casted on the wall and forced herself to look back to the woman sitting in front of her. She was around her age. She could have been her, bearing two children. She could had been like her sister. She could had been Rachel, if the odds had been in her favour. But they weren't, and she had no offspring. Her husband was dead. Vincent had married her sister, and she would never ever have children on her own. She massaged her temples with her indexes and took a long breath. The odds were _never_ in favor of _anyone_.

* * *

The sun rose and casted its pale light over the state drowned in still fog. The thick mist extended and coiled its tendrils around the vegetation and gathered around the house. It didn't fade when a clock gave ten chimes. Neither when it gave eleven. Nor when it marked half to twelve. Rachel rested her forehead against the window of the breakfast solarium and the cold surface felt damp against her skin. Her breath condensed over the windowpane and she drew abstract lines with her fingers, trailing the distorted shadows of the nearby gardens. December was around the corner and the days became shorter, the air felt chiller and the countess didn't understood how was she not in bed. Her health tended to fail her when winter was near. She went to one of the couches and sat with a little thud. Rachel rubbed her wrists with her hands, first the right one and then the left one. That morning she hadn't anything important to do, Vincent was busy meeting with some clients downstairs, and her sons were studying in the library. The countess picked the book she had left in the low table before her and resumed her lecture in silence. It was a mere poetry work she had picked at random from the library; at first she found it boring but there she was, having engulfing half of the green booklet. She rested her back against the seat and drew her feet up until she was half lying in the soft surface. The peony dress she wore whispered with each movement she did and she flattened a few wrinkles with a distracted hand. Despite the interest she had in finishing the book, she ended up wandering about what to do to thank Undertaker for his favors. It could be a meal, but the noblemen had already met twice to have dinner that month. She knew that she would keep coming up with excuses for each idea that would come to her mind, so she sighed and opened the book again. Perhaps a gift would be more appropriate. Or even a seasonal treat like spiced biscuits.

* * *

"Have you seen Sebastian?"

"No."

Ciel looked up from his homework and rested the writing quill on top of a folded napkin. His brother sat in front of him at one of the library tables and had already finished his appointments. He, on the other hand, was still struggling with the literature analysis, yet he could do it on his own. The boy picked the quill again and resumed his reading.

"Do you need help?"

"I can do it myself, thanks. It's just-" Ciel inhaled and swung his legs back and forth under the table. He couldn't concentrate that morning. It wasn't that he hadn't sleep, and he hadn't had a _single_ nightmare, yet something had to be bugging him. And he had no clue about what. "I can't stand these theatrical pieces. They are so boring."

"That's true. Once you are done, we could look for him."

"Hm. Yes."

The older boy held his breath and read the same paragraph again. He had lost his concentration. His blue eyes went to his right where the paper full of questions was unfinished. Just four answers more about metric and meaning and he would be free from homework that morning. His little brother got up and disappeared from his vision field when he went to a nearby shelf.

"Do you mind if I read?"

"No" replied the boy while he was dipping the quill in the ink bottle at his side. His calligraphy wasn't the best but it was legible after all. His features softened when he heard his brother humming at his back as he went around the tall shelves. His animosity towards him had vanished faster than it came and it felt like someone had taken a weight off his shoulders. Ciel never considered himself a jealous person, and he loved his brother without a doubt. After all they were each other's best friend. It wasn't his fault nor his doing if mother and father were busy those past days. He wrote down the last word of the exercise he was answering and added a dot at the end. The child looked over his shoulder. "Do you find something?"

"I don't like nursery rhymes, I've had enough poetry for today, but I don't want to read mystery works with this weather…"

"What can you reach without a chair?"

The only answer he got was a little laugh and Ciel smiled biting his lower lip to suppress a laughter. A chortle left his lips and he turned on his chair to look at his brother.

"Don't you try to climb it."

"I won't. You are the adventurous one." The boy scratched his head and ran his fingers across his dark blue hair. His eyes went over the tomes and booklets carefully ordered by author and subject. "Maybe this… _Le Vintém Siég_ -"

" _Le Vingtième Siècle_?*"

"Yes. The cover looks nice!"

The boy went to Ciel's side and placed the book in front of his face. He took the book and turned the pages with curiosity.

"It has a lot of drawings."

His young brother sat at his side and bent to examine the book closely.

"It's a shame I don't know french like you."

"I can help you, you know."

"Are you done with your homework?"

Ciel blushed and peered at the open notebook on the desk.

"I have an exercise left."

"Then hurry so we can read this. That's a dimeter verse***." Noted the child pointing the line with his index. "And that's-"

"It's cheating if you tell me the answers."

Their eyes met and both children smiled with complicity.

"Is it when you help me with math?"

* * *

The warm water kept running down the sink and falling on her hands. Soon it became too hot for her taste and the woman closed the tap with haste. Angelina looked at her distorted reflection in the fogged mirror and bit her inner cheek. She hadn't slept the last night and it was taking its toll on her in form of nervousness. The blood from her hands fell down the sink when she opened the tap again and took a nearby soap bar from its box. Pink streams mixed with the foam and she fixed her mahogany eyes on the mirror. Another patient that had delivered a healthy child. And before that young woman, another one. And others before them. She cleaned the soap bar and left it inside its box. Then the doctor rinsed her shaking hands and wiped them with a soft towel. Her mind went again to the poor prostitute that had visited her at late-night, bawling and crying as she explained again and again how she couldn't afford to have twins. She had ended up giving her a mixture of mugwort and rue***. Angelina wasn't sure if the mixture would work giving her advanced state, yet she had ended preparing it anyway. Despite her advocacy for the rights to carry or not a child, the doctor had had her remorses. Remorses born out of her own situation, yet troubled feelings nonetheless.

"Doctor? There's another patient scheduled soon, are you feeling well?"

She forced her eyes away from her pale reflection and went to the door.

"I'm fine, Hannah," the woman opened the door and adjusted the white hat around her red hair. "Do we have enough towels?"

"Yes."

"Then let's take care of…" She looked at the list of patients as she examined her clean tools. "Rosemarie Philpott. Thirty-three, nine months."

* * *

* _Le Vingtième siècle_ is a novel by the French author Albert Robida (1848-1926). It was published in 1883 and it's the first part of a series of futuristic works. It was set in France in a futuristic XX century, introducing modern invents close to the television, web-cams and helicopters. The second and third works in this series are _La Guerre au Vingtième Siècle_ (1887) and _Le Vingtième Siècle. La vie électrique_ (1890).

** A dimeter is a metrical line of verse with two feet. An example of this appears in Wordsworth's _We Are Seven_.

*** Mugwort and common rue are plants and herbs that can cause miscarriages. They were used among working-class women in the 19th century and earlier to end pregnancy. They caused bleedings, seizures and even death, and were considered severe purgatives.


	17. 29th November, 1885, pt 1

Rachel woke up and turned around with her eyes still closed. Her messy blonde locks fell over her face and down her neck. The woman rubbed her eyelids with her hand and faced Vincent, who slept at her side. She took some time to admire him, how his chest rose and fell each time he breathed, how his messy hair circled his features. It was calming to see her husband sleeping well for once. He had been so worried the past days… Rachel drew a hand across his chest and rested her forehead on his shoulder. He had told her that there were no problems, but usually he meet only _twice_ a month with the other nobles, and she knew very well _what_ took place behind closed doors. Like the people who took care of the hidden artifacts behind the scenes in a theatre, they assured some order; but at _what_ cost. Rachel wasn't blind nor deaf after all, yet she had to play her role as a perfect wife. Her fingers played with the fabric of Vincent's nightgown and she halted when he turned to her, still asleep. The light coming from the window between the curtains reflected on his hair and casted shadows over his face. Rachel frowned when she caressed his cheek and examined the circles under his eyes. Vincent was a worried man and he had lots of things to care of; never before those problems had taken such toll on him. The earl opened his eyes and stared at her between his half closed eyelids.

"Good morning" mumbled Vincent with a drowsy, low voice. He placed a hand on Rachel's waist and pressed his forehead against hers. He placed a kiss on it and Rachel smiled wide. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, and you?"

Vincent snuggled his nose against hers and left a little kiss on her lips.

"Better than others."

The countess delved in the embrace for some seconds and then parted away with reluctance.

"We should start getting up…"

"Why, are you in a hurry?"

Rachel laid on her back and chuckled when Vincent left a trail of soft kisses on her jawline. She ruffled his hair and nuzzled her chin against his forehead as she threw her head back. A hushed laugh left her lips and Rachel hugged him back.

"I wanted to borrow the kitchens."

"Oh? A surprise breakfast? Annabelle is going to complain about the spoiled food…"

"No, I'm going to bake something. It's a secret."

The earl kissed her once more and sat on the mattress. He inhaled deep before he got up and went to the window. Holding each curtain with each hand he parted the long fabrics in a wide arc. He looked over his shoulder to Rachel, who laid on her stomach with her long nightgown wrapped around her body, the white duvet covering her hips. She yawned, then got up slowly from the bed while she was starting to comb her hair with her fingers. The woman put on her slippers and walked to the dressing room. Meanwhile, Vincent had put on his rings and was looking for his Sunday indoors suit inside the two bodies wardrobe. At his side, his wife had started to search something to wear.

"When does he arrive?"

* * *

It was cold, a piercing kind of coldness that entered his lungs and made its way inside his bones. His breath ascended in slow spirals before his eyes, still as a tintype. The boy looked around and turned on his heels; darkness was all that surrounded him, no familiar rooms, nor familiar shapes. Something was different and he couldn't grasp it. His throat hurt each time he breathed and he tried to inhale from his mouth. The chill air kept freezing him to the marrow. The child strolled aimlessly around the place. It was just a weird, vague dream, he was pretty sure of it. Not a nightmare, no; those had left him weeks ago and they could stay as far away as they wanted. The terrain under his feet became rougher, as if he was stepping on the bottom of a river, and as cold as one. He kept moving forward the changing place around him and he let out a whine when he felt a wave of ice cold water against his bare ankles. Like a tide which appeared without notice, he was soon submerged in the slow current to his abdomen. He yelped with surprise and took a couple of steps back. It was useless and soon he was swallowed whole by the river. The little rocks under his feet vanished and he waved his thin arms around. The pressure around his chest tightened his ribs and he gasped for air, filling his mouth with cold water instead. He stared at the bubbles ascending in spirals in silence, sinking like a dead weight as he tried to focus in the distant light of the surface.

"Any… one?"

* * *

The little boy opened his eyes at the same time he took a deep, harsh mouthful of air. It reached his lungs and he exhaled loudly before he took another breath; the duvet and the sheets fell to the floor when he threw them away. Their weight felt _too_ familiar to the underwater pressure of his dream. His breathing became ragged and the child clutched his hand over his chest. Not again, not when he was already cured, not when he had been so _normal_. He hiccuped and drew his hand to his mouth when a loud cough shook his chest. He shifted his posture and sat on the bed on his knees. If he managed to get up completely maybe the pressure in his lungs would fade away. The dense air of the room entered and left his mouth in ragged inhalations as the boy sat at the edge of the mattress. His feet made contact with the cold wooden floor when he got up. He did his best to remove the dark blue locks soaked in sweat from his face and inhaled deep again. Everything was fine, he repeated inside his head as he went to the door of his bedroom. Everything was alright. He could have sworn that he had heard paws scratching the door and a long whine. A loud bark followed it, but Sebastian never _ever_ barked, unless something was _wrong_.

* * *

"... biscuits!"

He jolted in the bed and gasped for air. His chest rose and fell with each mouthful of air that left his lips. He searched for Ciel's hand around the duvet and he closed his fingers around it. He was warm, or maybe he was too cold once more. The older child caressed his face and he delved in the gesture; his palm felt warm against his cheek too.

"Are you alright?"

His blue eyes scanned the room, wide with panic, and he did his best to focus on Ciel. Only in Ciel, he reassured himself as he applied more pressure around his brother's hand, not the blurred shadows that lurked in the corners and behind the escarce furniture. His older brother, who had woken him up in the worst manner possible yet in the best second. With reluctancy he let his hand go and forced himself to sat straight against the headboard, still breathing fast and with all his muscles tensed. Ciel twitched his upper lip and sat at his side.

"Tsk… Were you having a nightmare?"

The younger boy looked down to his lap and inhaled from his nose. Lying to him had no use and served him nothing. And at the same time he didn't want to worry anyone. Things were getting better, slow but steady, he was getting better too. He looked up to Ciel and stared him with intensity. They were so look a like and so different for some things.

"Yes. But it was a silly dream."

Ciel studied his face looking for any clue that told him if he was lying. The other boy stared at him in silence with his big blue eyes still wide from the abrupt awakening. He composed a smile and got up from the bed.

"Okay!"

"What were you saying before? Something about biscuits?" asked his brother as he followed him out of the bed. The sheets and the duvet were all messed up and scattered over the mattress. But he didn't want to lose time fixing them, he just wanted to left the room as soon as possible. Away from the bed with its heavy sheets that suffocated him. The boy trotted sheepishly behind Ciel, almost forgetting his slippers and turning around at the doorway to get them. The older child kept smiling and soon they were trotting down the hallway bathed in a pale sunlight. It was just a shallow, meaningless dream, repeated the little child to himself; not anything like other nightmares he had had time ago. On the other hand, it had been some time since he had awakened to discover that he was still dreaming. It had startled him and had left a bitter taste in his throat. As if he had swallowed salty water. He snapped out of his thoughts when he clashed against Ciel. The boy had stopped his tracks in the middle of the hallway and he pushed him in his distraction.

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

Ciel faced his brother with his lips still curved in a bright, sincere smile.

"Don't apologize… Ah, yes! The biscuits. Mother wants to bake some, and we can help her."

"Why is she baking something? What about Annabelle?"

"Mother asked her for the kitchens. She said it's a surprise" explained Ciel as he resumed his walk down the hall. He took his brother's hand and dragged him across the place. His skin was wet and cold. "I wonder what has she planned."

* * *

Despite the bright sun that had shone all the morning the pavement was wet. Or maybe it was starting to freeze, after all December was near, and the city wasn't known by its gentle weather. He searched in his pockets for some coins to pay a carriage down the river walk, and the mortician cursed his custom of saving everything in them. Once he retrieved the keys and some lyres Undertaker faced the door of his parlor. The past week he hadn't had many customers, but with the low temperatures and the near winter it was just a matter of time that he would be busy back again. Then all those trips and reunions and visits would be gone and it would be the Earl who would be doing them. He palmed the front of his coat looking for the vial he needed to bring no matter what. He located it in one of the hidden pockets inside the coat, closed the door and turned on his heels with the keys digging against his palm, his fingers closed in a tight ball. The air felt cold and wet and the closer he got to the river, the more scents it carried from the docks and the nearby fabrics. Undertaker wrinkled his nose and reached the Thames without really paying attention to the crowded street. It was Sunday and people had things to do, people to visit, time to expend -or _waste_ -. He found an empty carriage after some minutes and cleared his throat. The driver was blowing some hot air on his hands and didn't paid attention to him at first, focused as he was on keeping the cold piercing air outside his flesh. He wore a tall hat, a dark blue scarf and a charcoal coat that reached his calves.

"Good morning, sir, are you waiting for any clients, or is the carriage available?"

His voice denoted nothing out of the norm, maybe his tone was always more cheerful than the one expected from a man of his profession, but that was all. The driver turned his head and sniffled loudly at the same time he did a little gesture with his free hand in the shape of a cross; the other one was occupied holding the brown leather gloves he used to drive. He regained his composure as soon as he had lost it and Undertaker chuckled to himself. He was used to that kind of reactions.

"Where do you need to go, sir? I was just taking a break, and I'm not waiting any client."

"It's just a trip to the outskirts, I'll give you the directions on the way there."

The man jumped off the driver seat and opened the door for the mortician. Some ginger locks freed themselves from under the dark hat and the driver took it off to fix his hair. Meanwhile, Undertaker had already sat inside the convoy and was trying to find a comfortable position. The seats were comfortable and the carriage didn't reeked any weird scents: still, despite the clean burdeos upholstery, it wasn't one of the Earl's. The door was closed at his side and the driver sat on his seat with haste.

The reins cracked the air and they started moving slowly with the river at their left.


	18. 29th November, 1885, pt 2

His fingers ran across the long, dense black fur of the dog with distraction, from nape to back, again and again. Often, when he got caught in an interesting reading and Sebastian sat near him, he ended up petting the serious borzoi while he read in silence. The biscuits were ready and their mother had left them some free time before they had to get ready for the visit. The boy lost the track of his lecture when his mind followed that path of thought. They had to get ready because Undertaker was coming to visit them, because he had to give him the last dose of… Whatever mixture it was, the mortician could be talkative towards his parents but _what_ would understand a _child_ like him? He just had to seem friendly _enough_ to him. That way he would trust him, and that was all. _What an odd person_ , he mused as he patted Sebastian's head with affection. The dog rested his head on his lap and the child left the book on top of a nearby table. The library was quiet and bathed in bright sunlight and he took a breath from his mouth. It was one of his favourite places to spend time around the house, because of its calming atmosphere with all those old books gathered there by his parents, and the clean, tall walls. Sebastian yawned and wagged his tail in a lazy motion from side to side.

"I'm sure you're eager to be with Ciel and run around the house, don't you? I'm sorry you couldn't be in the kitchens with us, but mother says you can't go there. You would have eaten all the biscuits and then there would have been none left for this afternoon."

The hound fixed his pitch black eyes on him and licked his snout.

"Do you want to go look for him?"

The child got down from the couch where he sat and walked to the door with a lively pace.

"Come! We'll go to his room first, then to father's office."

* * *

The carriage stopped by the forged door that guarded the property. The Phantomhive state wasn't one of the biggest yet it was impressive nonetheless. And what they had before was just the parcel around the manor. The driver opened the door and Undertaker stepped outside the vehicle. He paid the redhead man and went to the tall door in silence, his hair and robes agitated by a growing wind from the north. The incoming winter was going to be harsh.

"Have a good day sir."

A little smile came to his lips before he replied without looking back. He knew he had paid him far more than the price and he hadn't reclaimed the rest.

"Thanks. Have a good return."

Money had that effect on people, he thought as he walked up and down the forged entrance waiting for one of the guards to come; they would turn gentle and compliant towards anyone for the _right_ amount. A young man dressed in plain brown trousers and a wool shirt rushed to the fence with a voluminous bunch of keys in one hand and keeping his grey cap on his head with the other. Behind the mortician the horses huffed and trotted away, commanded by the driver with a loud whistle. The carriage disappeared behind a pronounced turn of the road leaving a cloud of dust.

"Excuse me, sir. Lord Vincent told us ya' were comin' today but we thought ya' would come to the manor. It's a long walk from here."

"Worry not, it won't kill me to stretch my legs a little. I'm sure the estate looks lovely with this weather."

He kicked some pebbles while the boy opened the gate. The round stones rolled and stopped by the fence with a metallic sound.

* * *

Vincent twitched his lips in a confident smile as he placed the little wooden king on top of the marble table. The chess board reflected some sunlight coming from the window and the earl watched as his opponent placed the white pieces around. Undertaker took his time, touching each piece for some seconds before he placed them on their tiles. _Clac_. The mortician hummed and left a tower on the corner of the board.

"So you came by foot. I could have order a carriage for you."

"It wasn't necessary, I can walk," he paused to place a rich carved white horse by the tower's side. _Clac_. "And I needed to stretch my legs. The public carriages aren't as roomy as yours."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

The man rested his back against his seat and watched as the other kept placing the pieces. The bishop, the queen. Each time the mortician took a piece from the velvet-lined wooden box where they were saved, he moved the figure in circles between his fingers with detail.

"Is your eyesight getting worse?"

"As if I _needed_ it."

"Should I worry about it?"

Undertaker placed the white bishop on its proper tile and smiled with a high chortle.

"How _kind_ of you to show that. The carving is delicate and I like to take my time appreciating it. My eyesight is _fine_ , Earl."

Once he left the last pawn on the board, Vincent moved in his seat and put a little hourglass next to the marble chess.

"Whites move first."

 _Clac._

The earl watched as the other man hoovered his hand over the pieces, touching each one with the tip of his index finger nail. Finally he moved the pawn guarding the king. Undertaker turned the hourglass upside down and rested against his seat.

"Blacks follow."

They were in the tea room next to the breakfast solarium and the bright pale sun came from the windows. It wasn't a cold day and the wind had eased since his arrival, so the aura around the estate was a calming one, as well as inside the manor. A chore of laughter echoed around the halls and the earl looked to the door. The children would be teasing Sebastian again. Luckily for them, the pitch black hound had lots of patience. He moved the pawn in front of his queen and turned the hourglass again.

"Lord Randall's helper came to my place the last week."

"Abberlaine, that young inspector?"

"Yes, the one who looks as if he just left the academy."

 _Clac_. Undertaker moved his right bishop to the fourth row of the board.

"What did he want?"

"He was gathering field information about the missing children, it looked like the Yard finally was doing their work."

"Don't be like that, they are quite… capable."

"Yet it's been awhile since you talked with Randall. I understand his _animosity_ towards me, after all, but they could have dropped around earlier."

Vincent turned the hourglass and moved his bishop to the fourth row too. One of the useful ways to block that gambit* was imitating it. He turned the hourglass again and waved his hand. A distant crash was heard muffled by the closed door and both men shared a concerned look. Undertaker parted his lips in a wide mischievous smile and moved the right pawn to let his tower free.

"I hope the boys aren't giving you too much trouble these days, judging by the sound of that. The last time we talked about them you seemed _concerned_."

"You're acting quite despising this morning. Is anything bugging you?"

"Abberlaine asked too many questions and insisted on pay me with money, knowing that I don't like it, and I had to compel. I didn't want Randall showing the next morning to bark at my face, it could scare my customers."

"I don't think your _regulars_ would complain at all."

The earl moved one of his pawns near the white bishop and his eyes went to the door. No more laughter had been heard after the loud sound and he hoped his sons weren't teasing the borzoi again. The last time their adventure ended with a scold from Rachel and a broken vase.

"You'll be surprised."

"What did he ask you?"

"He seemed pretty interested in knowing if I knew of any parlors that had received children in the past week. I know nothing about, if I did we won't be throwing bites to the air. Then it turned interesting because he asked if I had received any Irish customers."

"What?"

"I guess Randall just wants to discard if the Irish are involved. If someone's tongue got loose, I'd had a nice drowned customer the next days, let me assure you that."

He waved one hand in a dismissive manner and examined the board with renewed interest. That was a possibility they hadn't considered too much, first of all because the Irish were busy with their own problems, between the public alterations caused by the revolutionaries and independentists, and the still recent terrorist acts. He watched as the funeral director moved one of his pieces to take down the new threat and his lips curved in a smirk.

"Bon appetit."

Undertaker placed the lost black pawn outside the board and let out a low hum while Vincent was turning the hourglass.

"As if I didn't know that you sacrificed that pawn on purpose… But we were having a nice conversation. Shall we continue it?"

"You don't seem convinced of that possibility, why is that?"

"The Irish are in a delicate position now. The House of Lords is stopping almost all the petitions coming from Irish representants, their people are treated like rats in certain zones of the city, and the little domain they keep is as valuable right now as a leprechaun's gold cauldron. Why would they go against us? It has no sense. Kieran and Breanne have been valuable allies in the past and they won't turn against me, they owe me _too_ many favours."

"What about any lord?"

"Our name is respected inside and outside the underground circles of Britain… But we should take that in consideration. Diederich implied that some nobles were involved, if we knew Lady Svetlana's whereabouts we could contrast-"

Undertaker let out a soft chortle, interrupting the younger man and crossing his arms over his stomach as he leaned back in his armchair. The earl hawked and stretched his legs.

"Those wrinkles... Has Rachel noticed them yet?"

"What are you babbling about now?"

The mortician covered his mouth with one hand and entwined his fingers with his long braid. He coiled it as he spoke with a renewed teasing tone.

"When you talk about serious things a wrinkle starts to show on your forehead, and I was musing if Rachel had noticed it, and if she had told you about. Don't tell me I didn't warn you if one of these days she makes comments about your… _age_."

"You are not the best to call me out on that."

* * *

The countess brought the glass of water to her lips and took a sip. She left the cup on the table and cleaned her lips with the embroidered cloth that rested on her lap. Annabelle had done a marvelous job as always and the food tasted delicious. She had requested a light midday luncheon consisting on fish broth to start, some potatoes, stewed cardoons and haricots verts as side dish; marble veal was one of the options as the main course, and house lamb the other. The woman had insisted on preparing a simple dessert and save the biscuits for the afternoon tea and Rachel had ended giving up. As the countess she had the last word yet she knew that Annabelle took high pride on her cooking abilities. She felt like she was disregarding them if she told her to not prepare anything so _pompous_. The blonde woman wandered her sight around the table, over each one of the not-at-all diminished dishes and finally on her sons' plates. None of them had eaten much and the countess smiled behind the cloth she was using to clean her mouth: they were saving some space for the sweets later and they weren't too excited over fish nor innards.

"Had you thought of a present yet, little lord?"

Ciel lifted his blue eyes from the haricots scattered around his plate and left the fork on the porcelain.

"Not yet. I can't come with an idea good enough so I prefer to save it for a really nice one."

"If I recall it correctly the last year you got plenty of them."

"Yes," the older boy blushed and focused his gaze on the cup in front of him which was still full of water. "I'm sure this one will be even better."

His brother watched the exchange with a bored expression on his face. He had been feeling physically better the past days, and despite that his mood was low. The boy played with some haricots, moving the vegetables from one side to another of the delicate plate with his silver fork. Surely the cause was the odd weather of the last week, those nights plagued with vague dreams and cold, rain soaked days were tampering his spirits. He lost the track of the conversation and focused his distracted gaze on the window across the room, behind the foggy panel into the landscape behind it. The sky over the state had dawned in a chill morning and the sun still hung over the horizon, casting pale rays all over the terrains, occasionally clouded by a lone mass of grey clouds hurdled around it, projecting pronounced shadows here and there. He sighed and stabbed a couple of haricots with his fork, trying to distract his mind from the gloomy state he was immersed.

* * *

The afternoon tea arrived slowly, as if the day had been stretching until feeling detached and loose. If he had to describe it in one word he would say it felt close to the drowsiness typical of a too long nap. That's how he felt his head, bottled up and unable to focus in the conversation. He looked up from the carpet and found his brother staring back at him. They were in the playroom, where they had been since they left the dining room after luncheon. Sebastian was with them too, laying on the floor as large as he was in a patch of late sunlight poured from one of the tall windows. Each passing day the sun set earlier than the day before, one warning more of the close arrival of winter.

"Are you okay? You don't seem to be well. Shall I call for anyone?"

"No, I'm just a tad tired."

Ciel sat at the white table near the window at his brother's side and took his hand over the wooden surface. He wasn't as cold as other days but he hadn't a regular temperature either. The boy frowned and made a pout before he caressed his little brother's wrist over his sleeve. His fingers got caught in the decorative fold of it and he let the cloth go.

"Aren't you excited for the biscuits? I wonder what do they taste like, Mother didn't let us try any of them."

"I guess I am."

"Stop it with that blue-mood. Do you want me to tickle it out from you?"

He wasn't expecting the serious glare thrown at him by the other boy and almost got away from him leaning back. _Almost_. Ciel searched for his hand and entwined their fingers with unsure movements. He hadn't been like _that_ for months, and the little heir didn't understood the mood change of his brother.

"I wasn't teasing you. I just don't know why are you like this, you're getting better, you should be happy. I was scared for you, you know? I feared that Undertaker messed something up and hurt you, no matter how many times father and mother reassured me the opposite."

The coldness disappeared from the child's gaze and Ciel let out a relieved sigh. If he thought about it, and if he was sincere to himself, the only thing he had to blame his bitterness on were the nightmares he had had now and then. Ciel and him had their moments, of course they do, they were siblings. He caught a deep breath and averted his gaze.

"I've been having those nightmares, in them… I…"

* * *

Undertaker had just lifted the steaming hot cup to his lips when the boys entered the tea room. Ciel looked relieved as if some weight had been lifted from his shoulders; and _what_ lift should the little earl had to endure?, he mused in silence as he followed the two of them with narrowed eyes. His brother looked less livid and more upbeat than earlier at luncheon; he had always been a gloomy child since he was little: not that he wasn't always smiling and eavesdropping around like his older brother, it was just that he was a bit more serious than him. After he had tried the hot beverage, he left the cup on the saucer he was holding with his left hand over his lap.

"Which variety is this, Countess?"

"Lapsang Souchong," retorted Rachel with her own cup untouched between her hands. She left the teacup in the table between them and poured some milk in her beverage. "Lord Klaus brought some for us to try it the last time he came to visit."

"Ah, yes, Klaus and his custom of regale."

Vincent sat at their side on a comfortable armchair with carved legs, listening to their exchange without anything to add. The earl rested his saucer on his leg, one crossed over the other, while listening to their conversation. He had to organize a trip to London, probably he could talk with Rachel later and leave the next day with- He forced himself to stop thinking about it, for now at least. He would prepare and worry later. Not all days he could enjoy an easy evening with his family. To be honest, Vincent was curious about what had Rachel cooked. She knew all the house chores typical of a woman of her position, despite the fact that she had lots of servants to do them for her, but she knew how to defend herself in a household environment. The earl looked down to his sons as soon as they sat, one at each side of their mother, both with content expressions on their still round faces, and leaned forward.

"I hope you two aren't plotting anything today."

Both children looked to each other behind her mother's back; Rachel had just leaned to pick her steaming cup back from the table, and looked back to their father with a solemn smile.

"We're not, we promise."

It was Ciel who spoke, already filling one of his hands with strawberry jam filled finger sandwiches. He placed three pieces on his free hand and retreated to his spot near the countess.

"Do you want any tea?"

"Yes, please."

"-without sugar."

"Mine with three sugar cubes."

The mortician, who had just been watching all the familiar exchange with a curious expression on his face, camouflaged by his everlasting smile always ready to flourish on his mouth, snickered out loud before taking a sip from his porcelain cup. When he spoke his voice was dyed with amusement and had a sing-song tone.

"You should watch your teeth, don't you know what happens if you have too much sugar? I'm sure you don't want to make the Tooth Fairy busy ahead of her schedule…"

"I bet she won't, she already came in summer! My teeth aren't wobbly."

"It was just an observation," he let out another snicker with both hands wrapped around his cup. Ciel avoided his bright, piercing green gaze and started to eat the sandwiches, one tiny bite at the time. Meanwhile, the funeral director had started to talk with Vincent about stuff Ciel didn't understood, so the child quickly lost his interest for it.

A light chuckle ringed at his side and Ciel looked at his brother with mixed feelings. He still didn't understand his good terms towards the odd-looking friend of his father, and sometimes, _just sometimes_ , a lash of jealousy stung him without previous notice. He was his best friend, and Ciel was his, and nothing would ever break that. _Never ever_. He finished the first finger sandwich when his brother started to move his legs back and forth. Ciel did that when he was nervous or bored; his brother did it when he was eager. He watched as the little boy, all sharp dressed with a matching suit of navy blue with a white ribbon around the neck, tugged Rachel's sleeve to get her attention. The woman smiled at him with kindness, her eyes filled with delight, as she bent over to him.

"-biscuits?"

"Yes honey," she left her teacup on the table and got up interrupting her husband for a second. Vincent and she exchanged a quick glance before the woman went to the cord that hung near the door and pulled it. She sat on her spot again and recovered her beverage with a polite nod to their guest. "Excuse the interruption."

The second finger sandwich was gone, and half of the third, when some servant knocked the door. Ciel was bored, kicking the air in front of him, wishing for Sebastian to be there to eat the crumbs from the rich carpet -despite knowing that doing that, the hound would earn a scold from either Vincent or Rachel-, and at the same time he was thinking of a good conversation theme to discuss with his brother. Who, on a clear contrast with him, was sipping his tea with a cheerful look in his eyes, watching how the scarce sunlight disappeared from the room and only the gas lamps attached to the walls remained. In fact, he was curious of knowing if the mortician would enjoy the biscuits. Harriet came inside the room carrying a silver plate covered with a lid and left it on top of the table. From his seat, Undertaker squinted his eyes with playful curiosity, almost cat-like.

"Thanks, Harriet."

"Do you need anything else, ma'am?"

"No, you can retire."

Once Harriet left, Rachel landed her hand on the handle of the lid, her right eyebrow arched in a teasing expression. The light cobalt with sage green dress she wore creaked when she moved on her seat, a soft whisper of fabric against upholstery.

"My, my, what did you prepare? There was no need for it."

"It's just a detail. You insisted with such stubbornness that I had to remedy that. What kind of hosts would we be, the Phantomhives, if we didn't _regale_ people close to us?"

Vincent let out a quiet chuckle when she said that, a mix of pride, satisfaction and a tiny bit of malice on his face. Ciel looked at his father as if he had missed the point of the joke, and chose to not pay attention to it. He watched as his mother lifted the lid to reveal a ordered mountain of biscuits shaped like little bones. Undertaker picked one between his index and thumb and let out a high pitched laugh that echoed in the room and shook his frame.

" _Bones_! What a surprise, milady, and I thought you despised my kind of humour!"

* * *

The moonlight made its way between the masses of clouds that crowded the starry sky, drawing shapes in the trimmed garden that guarded the manor. The weather was cold and wet, anticipating what probably was going to be a midnight storm, judging by the static that filled the air. Undertaker turned on his heels and faced the manor from the balcony where he stood, and rested his weight against the stone ledge, which was perfectly carved like any other ornament in the manor. They had had a light dinner and Rachel had ordered some nameless servant to fetch a room for him to stay the night. The mortician took a deep breath, savoring the cold wind that roamed around the place, and held the little vial he had saved in an inner pocket before his eyes. Yes, his eyesight may be getting worse, he noticed as he tried to focus the glimmering object inside his palm, but it wasn't as if he had ever needed it. It was a long time since he had learned to not depend on only one of his dull senses. A harsh wave of cold wind messed his hair and waved his long inner coat with anger, so he saved the vial and walked with long steps towards the balcony entrance. How kind of the countess to get ready a room for himself, he who didn't need to sleep, not anymore. Sometimes he had tried to, but those mock, sleepless nights had only brought boredom to his mind, and he dreaded it. He stepped inside the manor and closed the windowed door behind his back, throwing a last glance to the closed night sky.

"Looking for the Lady in Black?"

The Earl of Phantomhive sat on an armchair placed near the huge window, a little slouched on his seat and with his hands resting on the carved wooden arms of the furniture. He got up as soon as Undertaker turned to face him and a smile curved his pale lips upwards. A wolfish one, nothing compared with his earlier displays in front of the little family heirs.

"I have no desire of that company, I don't like to mess with ghosts, my Earl."

"Don't you believe on them?"

The mortician went to the earl side and rested his weight against the then empty armchair. The furniture piece creaked under him, but he paid no attention to it.

"Someone in my profession shouldn't, don't you think? I'd be seeing them all day around. And that doesn't sound too much fun." There was a longer pause between sentences, while Undertaker fidgeted with the ring on his index and gave it a loop around. "Did you want anything?"

"I have to talk with Rachel about it, yet I want to leave to London the next Thursday. At which hour do you plan to leave tomorrow?"

"Nine o'clock, if possible. Do you have to sniff around some more clues, like the well-behaved hound you are?"

Vincent let out some air from his nostrils but retorted nothing to it. He was way too accustomed to that give-and-take between them.

"Actually I need to contact Pit for a family portrait, now that Ciel's birthday is close."

"And you'll use that trip to do some more chores."

"Indeed. So," the earl wandered around the room with a stiff posture, his back rigid and his lips pressed in a thin line. "Tonight is the last time you have to treat him."

"Yes. I placed some in his tea, in the afternoon, and with one dose more it will be enough. If he had shown other symptoms, it would be a whole different matter. When should I go to see him?"

"It's not too late."

Both looked at the tall clock placed near the door. Twenty-five to twelve. A distant thunder broke the night and Vincent headed for the threshold with slow steps. He was more tired than he was willing to admit.

"Thank you for helping with him."

"It's fortunate that only he inherited it, have you ever think about that?"

"When Ciel was little we were worried about him, too. He was always catching colds, always having fevers, bursts of cough when the temperature dropped too much. We took both of them to Bath."

The mortician nodded and followed him outside the room. The hall was well illuminated by some sconces here and there each some meters between them, not like the halls around the meeting room and the cellar, where they needed a chandelier to roam around. Vincent looked pale even when the circles under his eyes had become less visible and the warm lights only accentuated the shadows over his face. They made him appear younger, noticed Undertaker when they passed by one.

"It's been some time since that, it was one of those times when you left herr Diederich in charge."

"What do you want for this?"

Undertaker stopped his tracks in the hall, his eyes narrowed in thin green slits, not because he needed to focus on the earl, but because of what was he implying.

"Do you think I've done this so I can ask you for something later?"

"That's not what I'm saying. But you've been a big help for us, no…" Vincent's voice diminished with each syllabus until he whispered. He cleared his throat and fixed his almond eyes on Undertaker with resolution. How pathetic of him, showing all his emotions like an open book for him to read them. "For _all_ of us."

He passed by the earl without a reply, only a nod to acknowledge his words. Vincent followed down the hall until they reached the staircase that led to the upper floor. The manor was silent at those hours, except the occasional sound coming from the servants ale; nothing that would be annoying for the owners of the house, of course.

"I thought we had agreed on not talk about _her_ anymore."

There was no malice in his voice, no intent to harm him by saying that. He was just making a statement, and Vincent knew it. Undertaker started to climb the stairs without paying attention to the family portrait that decorated the wall. The younger man contemplated him without a word, moving his gaze slowly from the mortician's back to the family portrait that hung above them. Vincent followed him upstairs and threw a last glance to the portrait before they turned another corner to go to the rooms.

* * *

Something bitter going down his throat. That was the first thing he noticed between the veil that separated the dream from the vigil. A cold touch around his wrist, firm but gentle at the same time. The murmur of robes. Was he having one of his nightmares again? The child opened his eyes and saw the room flooded with shadows.

"Is it morning?"

"No, little earl."

Ah, yes. The dose. He sighed with relief and relaxed his muscles as he laid limp in the bed. How comfortable, how warm. Now that everything seemed to be fixed. Undertaker checked his pulse and caressed his forehead. The child was almost asleep again. The dose was the right one and it had worked, that was what mattered. The mortician let him go and straightened his back before he sat on a chair placed near the bed. How different from the first time he had treated him, when the boy was having one of his attacks. Now he was slowly drifting back into a deep slumber induced by the mixture he had given him, helped by his own childish ease to sleep. When he spoke in a quiet whisper, his voice sounded harsh in the tranquil atmosphere of the room.

"It's still _too early_ for you to wake up."

* * *

* The opening referred here is known as the Bishop Gambit, a popular chess movement.


	19. 1st December, 1885

Fred Abberline wasn't having a good morning. He ran a cold hand through his disheveled, wet ginger hair, and tightened his grip around the edge of his low grey hat. First he had arrived late to the Scotland Yard office of his district for the first time in months, all because he had forgotten his coat in his morning rush. Second, when he arrived to the headquarters a sudden, heavy rain fell over the city and soaked him to the bone. Cold and shivering, he had cursed his fate and tried to joke about the situation to himself. _You should had said rabbit, rabbit, Fred_ *. The voice he heard in his head was the closest possible to his fiancée's and that put a confident smile on his face. He stood in the main hall of the police station until he localized the other inspector he had been looking for. The young officer left a trail of puddles of water behind him, earning a disapproving shook from the secretary who sat behind the counter, and he plastered a guilty smile on his face.

"Gilbert!"

The man turned on his heels when he heard the other calling his name. He was no taller than Abberline, wore a maroon suit of three pieces, and carried a leather bound archive under his left arm. His ashen blond moustache moved when he talked back to the younger man.

"Good morning, inspector. Lord Randall was asking for you five minutes ago, and he didn't seem to be in good spirits today… Must be the weather."

"Yes, yes, I know that. Did you gather the reports I asked for the last week?"

"I have them in my office, come to see me later when you're free."

"Thank you very much, you don't know how useful those papers are going to result," he retorted in a sincere tone as he patted his shoulder with camaraderie. The inspector let him go and started to walk, almost jogging, to the police chief's office. "I owe you one, remember it!"

* * *

The office was flooded with light pouring from the window behind the desk. The sky looked clouded but there was no trace of rain. Abberline cursed his bad luck and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. His hat and coat hung from a rack placed near the door frame and were soaking the carpet. Lord Randall looked up from his papers, noticed the crescent puddle forming on the rich wooden floor and twitched his mouth with displeasure. Abberline could say without a doubt that, if it wasn't for his perfect record, his boss wouldn't give him that special treatment. Even if such thing was simply not roaring at him for being late because of the sudden bad weather. With a scratch of quill against paper, he signed the document and placed it on a little pile at his right.

"Abberline."

"Yes, sir?"

"I need you to go to some places this morning."

The inspector let out a relieved sigh and crossed his hands behind his back. The two leather chairs before him were empty, but Randall hadn't tell him to sit down, so he battled his need to collapse on one of the comfortable seats. He hadn't slept a wink since they started to investigate the cases involving disappeared children, and who knew, even a possible trafficking network. His sapphire eyes followed his superior's movements as the man saved a letter inside its envelope and heated a spoon of wax with the help of a candle flame. Once he was done, he blew to extinguish the orange flame and poured the wax on his own seal. Whatever it was, thought Abberline, it wasn't an official matter. And knowing Lord Randall, that just meant that it was if not equal, even more important than the current cases.

"Where do you need me to go, sir?"

"Go to St. Giles and Clerkenwell for today, tomorrow you will go to the East End, to Bethnal Green. Inspector Wakefield will poke around Jacob's Island, and the inspector Dusset will go to Devil's Acre. Then the McKowen brothers will go to sweep the Mint, and I'll send officer Ashmoore to Pottery Lane."

"What do we have to look for in those slums?"

The older man got up from his seat and circled the seat with long steps. His eyes looked as cold as steel behind the fine frame glasses he wore. His dark admiral grey suit rustled when he picked a voluminous envelope from one of the ordered piles that were scattered all over the cherry finished desk.

"This is a list of orphanages, charity houses, common lodge houses, and brothels" started to explain the man with a serious voice laden with pity, and contempt when he pronounced the last word. As far as Abberline knew, Lord Randall wasn't a very righteous, a bastion of the morale, but that didn't mean that the man lacked in principles. More like the opposite. He knew of Randall's fierce disdain for the several brothels and human trafficking networks that swarmed and plagued the city slums. And in that particular case it was even more sickening, if the inspector stopped his tracks and thought that they were looking for missing children, none of them older than fourteen years old. He placed the envelope under his arm when Randall took a deep inhalation from his nose. "According to our sources, you'll have to ask around for Joshua Adams, a nameless girl with freckles, ginger hair and brown eyes who has a large burn scar over half of her face; Rodd Hawk, and the rest of the list. It's on the first page, the second sheet is a compilation of portraits drawn by one of our specialists."

The young man skimmed through the report with a solemn nod. No matter the portraits, it would be almost impossible to locate the nameless children. In the slums people disappeared each day and no one batted an eye. No one ever knew anything, no one saw a thing. His eyes travelled down the page searching for relevant clues. Joshua Adams and Rodd Hawk looked like unlucky bastards abandoned by wealthy families who didn't want to carry a burden, a stain on their spotless family records.

"Understood, sir. I'll come back as soon as possible."

"Take care out there," warned the man with a grave stare from above his glasses. He placed them on top of his nose bridge with a stiff gesture and turned his back on the young man behind him. The city looked busy that morning, and the clouded sky didn't look like a harbinger of good news. "I don't want to lose another man anytime soon."

"You have nothing to worry about, sir, you have my word."

* * *

The bell rang with a distant chime and was followed by a thud when the door closed after it. Wading through shelves full of jars and old books, he made its way to the stairs that led to the shop. The closed smell of the basement followed him as he climbed the stairs, lingering his clothes with invisible tendrils. Chemicals, old paper with a pinch of moisture, all of it mixed with dust. Before he opened the door that separated the store from the back of the building, he palmed and dusted his robes the best he could. The door creaked when he pushed it to go to receive whoever it was. But if he trusted his guts, he would say it was a new customer ready to ask for a fee. The cheaper one available, if possible, as always.

"Good morning, may I help you?"

"Dear sir, I… I come to ask for a service."

His eyes examined the quivering lady in front of him with curiosity. It was replaced by a complete lose of interest once he looked at her. Mid-thirties, ragged clothes covered by a coat too big for her frame, her black hair kept in place in a tight bun that let some free locks around her face. Pretty but too thin, too pale, with a wounded hand if that gray blur he caught between the mass of clothes was an old bandage. Probably from an industrial fabric, but one never knew.

"Ma' friend Anne passed away tonigh' and we want to bury her, sir. We don't have much money but we had saved some. If somethin' happened."

"I see. Do you want some tea while we discuss the price?"

"That's…" her voice broke in a sob and she covered her mouth with her healthy hand. She wasn't accustomed to be treated like more than a dog, for what it seem, mused the mortician as he walked to her and placed a hand over her shoulders. Her body went rigid until another sob broke her composure. If inviting her to a cheap _tea_ that took five minutes to brew had that effect, Undertaker didn't know what would happen if he offered her a refreshment. "... thank you."

"Now, now. What happened?"

The woman moved away from him and cleaned her face with the sleeve of her coat. Undertaker opened the door across the room and guided her to the backstore in silence, waiting for her response. When she passed near him she repressed a chill.

"W-Well. Anne was knapped**, she couldn't afford to have the nipper, as poor as she was, poor gal'," the woman hiccuped to hold a sob and her voice became low and wobbly. "She met a lady in a charity house, who knew of a nurse, and she went to see a doctor who could help her."

Now, that had his attention. As far as he knew, the perfect, strait-laced English society didn't see with good eyes such things, so it was understandable that the whole thing happened behind closed doors.

"The thing is, whatever she took, it didn't do good to her, no sir. Knowing Anne she probably took too much, or mixed something wrong, or someone didn't like her and tainted her grub. The mot*** told us the last night when she came to get her fee."

"Poor soul."

* * *

The air was filled with strong odors and a veil of smoke wrapped everything around him. Abberline coughed and covered his mouth with his gloved hand. The page with the children' portraits rested folded inside one of his wide pockets, ready to be shown if needed. The scarce light that came from the window opened in the front wall of the building gave the whole scene a picture-like atmosphere. Nothing _further_ from the reality he was watching. The officer watched how the dust particles floated around the foul air and parted in twirls. He gulped when he passed near an asleep pre-teen dressed with a big, dirty, woolen shirt and a pair of corduroy trousers tied around his hips with a cord. The boy was missing a shoe and Abberline averted his eyes. How could they, who were on a upper social step, allow those situations? He forced himself to ignore the tie in his stomach and continued to the belly of the building. The loose wooden boards pinned to the floor groaned when he stepped on them.

"Hey, lad."

The boy mumbled something in his sleep and opened his eyes with clumsy movements, until he recognized the adult shape in front of him.

"Yessir?"

"Where is the owner of this place?"

He blinked and got up in no time, flattening the creases on his clothes with a sarcastic air. When he spoke, the officer noticed that he was missing some teeth.

"The mot? Aren't you a peeler, sir? The ma'am says we can't talk with coppers."

"I'm not here for those matters. Do you know any of these persons?" asked the young man with a calmed voice. Somewhere above them, in one of the many rooms that formed the lodging house, someone argued with loud, harsh shouts that echoed like hound barks. Fred took the folded paper from his coat and showed it to the boy. "I'm looking for them."

"We don't' help rozzers, no sir."

"Listen, I just want to help. They've been missing for some weeks and we are currently investigating their disappearances. I know that you don't trust us, but your collaboration can help one of these children."

"Not my problem."

Abberline sighed loudly and rubbed his chin with his fingers. He had a short stubble beard that he should shave in no time, it was a miracle that Lord Randall hadn't called him out for his appearance.

"Just tell me if you've seen any of them and I'll leave, alright?"

"And what else?" asked the boy with avid eyes, landing his gaze on the officer's pockets. He understood the message perfectly and put his hand inside one of them. At the sound of coins, the boy shown his teeth in a mimicked polite smile. "Now we're talkin' the same, sire."

"Any of them?"

"Yes, little Lorraine used to go around the charity house where they serve some grubs" babbled the boy as he placed one of his fingers stained with coal dust on top of the bottom right portrait of a blonde girl with a round face and a mole behind her left eye. "I dunno the rest of them, no sir."

"That charity house, is it too far from here?"

"No, just three streets from here, take the right turn and you'll see it. A very fancy one, with a walled garden."

"Thanks for your collaboration."

* * *

Abberline left the place with heavy feet and the paper clutched between his fingers. The street was patched with puddles of water from the early downpour, but the sky looked clearer each passing minute. He went down the street following the directions from the nameless boy, passing between groups of people without paying attention to anything else than his thoughts.

* * *

* _Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit_ was a superstition held in the Victorian times. It was believed that if someone said "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" the first day of the month, it would bring that person luck the rest of said month.

** Knapped is a cockney slang term for pregnant.

*** Mot is a cockney slang term to refer to the proprietress of a lodging or a public house.


	20. 3rd December, 1885

The carriage trotted and jumped down the dirt road plagued with loose rocks. When it passed over a bump the child woke up with surprise. With wide open eyes he looked around and a relieved sigh left his mouth. He moved and rummaged until he found a comfortable position again and his head fell over his shoulder. The Earl circled his little frame with one arm and kept looking outside the window pane to the green fields they were passing by. Across the carriage, his wife was asleep too with Ciel cradled between her arms. The child rested his head on her lap and his legs on the leather seat. His breath was calm and steady. No matter how many bumps they passed over, or how much the downpour that washed the lands rattled against the roof and windows; he didn't woke up. Vincent closed his eyelids and breathed from his mouth. It was a long trip. Hours had to pass until they reached their destination and all for an unknown outcome. The man caressed his son's hair with slow movements, coiling his loose dark strands of hair between his fingers. His mind went to Diederich, who had been left in charge of everything during his absence. Then, to Francis, who had insisted in going to their estate at least a couple of days to keep the place in order. His sister, always so perfectionist, always so dutiful. He left his eyes wander from the misty window to Rachel. She had fallen in a deep slumber without sound and her forehead rested against the wall of the carriage. Her hand crisped for a second over Ciel's hair, and fell limp again. Vincent wondered if she was dreaming and what would it be about. The landscape he was watching from the window was gone, transformed into puddles of colour and distorted by the flowing water. Heavy drops fell against the glass and the roof. Despite the bad weather, Tanaka kept driving in silence. He hadn't complained, nor told him anything. Vincent had been clear about the urgency of the trip; of course, that didn't include the old butler catching a cold… The Earl looked down to his younger son and pulled the boy closer to him in a warm embrace. The boy rested his head against his side and murmured something in dreams. Vincent shooed him and threw his head back.

"Everything is fine. We're almost there," he reassured in a hushed tone.

But he knew they were still far away from Bath. He only hoped, before he fell into a light sleep, that the weather didn't get any worse.

* * *

Some light slipped through a thin slit between the curtains and casted a line across the ceiling. The room was calm and, like he checked with a glance to his side, his abrupt awakening hadn't disturbed Rachel's sleep. How long had it been since he had dreamt anything? The Earl filled his lungs with a slow inspiration and kept looking at the ceiling. The bedroom was tinted in grey muted tones. It was early, the sun had just started to appear on the horizon. The past day the weather had been cold, with clouded masses gathered all over the estate, but no rain had fell in the entire day. In Vincent's opinion, the cold rain could stay as far as it wanted. The longer winter took to come, the better, the man thought between the last remnants of sleep left his head. He had things to do and start to get ready for the day. He hadn't been able to contact Pit still and he hoped to be able to locate the freelance photographer. Some time had passed since they had worked together in anything that weren't commissions from the Queen. Vincent turned to face his sleeping wife and left a kiss on her cheek before he got up from the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands and rested his elbows on his knees for some seconds. The light made its way around the room, becoming brighter with each passing minute. In those late autumn days before the season finally faded away the light came and went in a blink. The bed made a quiet creak when he got up and went to the annexed room where clothes were stored. He was just going to met some people and meander around, so he decided that a simple suit would do. Behind him, Rachel moved and turned her back on him, still asleep with the sheets tucked around her body. He should be moving on, he decided when he opened the double door to the dressing room, and wandered his eyes over the furniture. The earl stared at the full body mirror located at his right and examined his unkempt appearance. All pale skin, soft dark circles under his eyes, and messy hair, he would have earned a scold from his sister if she had ever seen him like that. A quiet chuckle echoed in the room while he opened a nearby wardrobe. Any slate tone would do.

* * *

"Father?"

He turned around with his hands clasped around the flaps of his charcoal coat. With a firm tug he arranged the shoulders of the cloth and started to button it from his chest. He had been too focused on the things he had to do that he hadn't noticed the running bare footsteps over the carpet all the way down the hallway. Vincent faced his oldest son with a serene expression on his face, half bathed by the early morning light. It must had been just past seven o'clock in the morning and the boys weren't supposed to have classes until ten. Ciel was still rubbing his eyelids with the back of one of his hands, closed in a loose fist, when the earl finished buttoning his coat.

"What are you doing awake?"

"I heard you leaving."

"I have things to do in the city. I'll bring you two something, dear."

"But w- I want to go with you. You said we would go to London soon."

The boy scoffed when his father placed a hand over his head and rustled his hair with affection as he used to do. His toes curved over the cold floor and the little child wished he had put something over the wool nightgown. Meanwhile, Vincent had took a pair of gloves from the pocket of the coat and started to put them on. Ciel pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, mostly because he was upset, but also to hide the goosebumps rising on his skin. "And we'll go before your birthday, you have my word. Hey," the man kneeled before him and rubbed one of his forearms in a gentle gesture. The light outside became brighter by minutes and the carriage was already waiting for him in front of the manor. "I'll be back in the afternoon to have tea."

"Aren't you eating with us?"

"No. Now, Ciel, I have to leave. I'll see you two in the evening." He got up and ignored the pout that crumpled his son's face the best he could. Ciel was a grown up, independent child most of the times, except when it came to saying goodbyes. "Take care and don't tease your mother, your brother, or Sebastian."

"... Alright, father."

With that, Vincent turned around once more and started to climb down the staircase that led to the entrance of the house. Tanaka was already waiting for him at the front door, and from the servants' ale the earl caught a glimpse of black moving towards them. When he reached the family butler, the borzoi dog was already at the old man's side. Vincent smiled and patted the dog's head before he crossed the door that Tanaka opened for him. The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty hallway and Sebastian yawned, sitting near the double door, ready to wait for his owner's return.

"... Sebastian. Come here."

The animal turned his head to the staircase and wagged his tail with slow movements before he stretched his long limbs and trotted to the little boy waiting for him. His claws clattered against the polished marble and sounded amplified by the empty room. Ciel scratched his head and neck with childish eagerness and fell over his back when Sebastian licked his face. That put a smile on his pale, round face, at least for a while.

* * *

 _Tap_. _Tap_. _Tap_. Her steps sounded duller that morning as she crossed the still empty halls of the white building. Too bright despite the poor light that came from the windows, too white for her eyes. Or maybe she was too tired to function properly that morning even after the strong tea she had brewed for breakfast, paired with a generous portion of pastries. She had to eat better and she knew it well enough, but between the shifts and her recent sleepless nights, Angelina Durless wasn't having one of her peak moments. The woman retrieved her office keys from one of her pockets and opened it with her gaze fixed on the point of her dark pointed boots. It swung open with a creak, and creaked again when she closed the panel before her. The office was clean and everything was arranged as it used to be. Her desk, with the patient reports placed in ordered heaps, the closed ink bottle and the wooden clock that marked the hour in the right corner. Step after step she waded towards the desk and let herself drop on the leather seat. Her medical bag rested at her side near the desk, like it always did when she gathered her things for field work, as she called it. Mostly they were hurried visits to her sister's state or late night urgencies. She yawned and placed her elbows on the desk with her fingers tangled in her short red mane. Angelina hadn't suffered from insomnia in years, and there she was, having slept barely two hours, which wasn't recommendable for anyone, least a _doctor_. But how could she had slept anything? The last night she had received the news like that kind of news always reached people of the higher social positions: a friend, who had a friend, who heard a friend's friend… She had measured and weighed all the ingredients in the right amount and had given the doses recommendations in a very clear way to the young woman. Was it _her_ problem if she had messed it up on her own? She had no idea of what had happened, in the first place, and in the second she couldn't have known that would occur. Her fingers tightened their grip around her red locks and pulled as she buried her face against her arm. The fabric of her coat felt rough yet warm when she rubbed her cheek over it. Angelina's mahogany eyes drifted to the clock in front of her at the same time a ragged breath left her lips. It was almost time to start the daily routine of checking files, filing reports and going down to the surgery room. The sun had rose enough to warm her back from the window opened behind. She shuddered and breathed from her nose with a watery sound that alarmed her. No, she was definitely _not_ going to cry over _that_. One could say she had it coming, under the right light and… No. Angelina rubbed her face with firm movements and took of her coat as she got up from the office chair. That wasn't a good thing under any circumstances and she knew it. She went to the rack near the door to hung her coat with all her nerves on edge. What kind of _person_ was she to think such awful things? But she found out that the idea had nagged its way inside the back of her head and there it stood, prickling and building a slight headache behind her forehead. That poor girl had been _luckier_ than she would ever be just for being able to get _pregnant_. It had been a tragedy, such a loss like that, but she still had been luckier than her. Angelina bit her lip and took off her gloves with anger. Not against the dead woman, but against herself. It all had been an unfortunate accident and there was not a trace of joy to find on that.

* * *

The carriage pulled over in the corner and the earl waited for his butler to come and open the door for him. Vincent could have done it by himself, but his mind was lost somewhere else and the man didn't noticed that the vehicle had stopped until the door opened at his side.

"We're here."

His gaze jumped from the window right in front of his face, to the dark upholstery of the empty seat, to the waiting butler who stood near the carriage. He cleared his throat and moved to the door.

"Thanks."

The old butler had a stern look over his face as he examined their surroundings yet he said nothing, for it was nothing remarkable to point out to his master. He closed the door when the younger man stepped on the pavement and waited for him to give any instructions. But the Earl was looking around, checking the nearby street and for some seconds they stood in that corner in silence, near the riverside close to the decks. Few people of his social status could be seen around except scattered gentlemen among the majority of workers coming and going to the several warehouses and fabrics built around the Thames.

"Wait for me in this same corner. If I don't come back in half an hour, come and look for me. I'll be looking for Azzurro, yet I hope that what Lau found isn't true."

"As you need, my Lord. Should I worry about sir Ferro?"

"No, we have nothing to worry about him. Yet. I just want to know why I haven't seen him in our latest meetings, I bet whatever has held him so busy deserves my interest as well."

With those words, Vincent parted from the butler's side and put his hands inside the pockets of his coat. The streets around the docks started to be filled with people each passing minute; it was almost time to open the markets and shops to the general public and everything should be disposed for it. He took a last look over his shoulder and caught Tanaka sitting in the carriage stiff in the driver's seat with his long black coat. The reins cracked at his back and the horses parted with the loud sound of their horseshoes against the pavement and demure huffs. Before his eyes, High Street was becoming more and more crowded and the earl walked faster towards the docks. The West India docks were one of the focal commercial points of the city, and where Lau had swore he had caught the Italian shipment of weapons. If Azzurro was there that morning he would he busy with the complex bureaucracy of paying taxes and ordering his men around what to do with the newest arrivals. That should not mean he wouldn't receive him like that, unannounced in that Thursday morning. Gardford Street, then Bridge Road all the way straight to the import docks. Vincent wasn't the only rich looking person there, as the import and export docs were always full of businessmen trying to get extra discounts for the shipments they asked for, or the goods they were trying to sell away from England. Once inside the docks, the earl took a deep breath and started to look around with a neutral expression on his face. At both sides several ships waited to be discharged with high, dense fumes ascending in slow spirals to the open air; and other several crews of workers tended ramps to move heavy containers in and out. After some wandering, Vincent caught some Italian accent somewhere at his left side, and moved in that direction with long steps. Azzurro Vanel, with his dark blond hair gathered in a ponytail and cladded in ivory white, argued with a thick accent and loud tone with a nervous merchant who kept rubbing his hands in circles. The earl waited and watched as the argument escalated and diminished, watched by some crewmen and ignored by most of them. The exchange continued for some minutes more between the Ferro family member and the unknown man in his early fifties. Dressed in a green herringbone coat over a burgundy vest and plain black cotton trousers, with his top hat trembling over his head, the man finally gave up and Azzurro passed one of his arms over his shoulders with familiarity. As if nothing had happened. The man parted from him and Azzurro watched him leave with a smile full of white teeth on his face. Whatever they were discussing, it was always better to face people with the best humour possible, Vincent mused as he approached the Italian man.

" _Mio caro Conte_!"

Azzurro had his eyes fixed on him and didn't lose time, walking towards the earl and greeting him with a hug. Vincent let him do and put a smile on his face when the other let him go. Around them, the crewmen lost their interest and went back to their duties, talking with each others in closed accents filled with loud orders. He fixed his coat with a gentle tug of its lapels and gathered his attention on Vanel.

"I didn't expect to see you here this morning, what brings you down here?"

"I wanted to know why hadn't you come to the last reunions at my place, and what had kept you that busy. You didn't even notice us."

The blond man smiled and his cheeks curved up, accentuating an old scar that crossed his face from right to left over his nose bridge. The scarred surface contrasted against his light tanned skin. He clasped his hands in front of him and lowered his head.

"I owe you an apology for that. I wasn't in the city."

"Did you left from one day to another? What was it so urgent to do so?" asked Vincent with his hands outside of his pockets. His arms rested limp at his sides, yet he had started to rub his index ring with his right thumb. He didn't want to sound too aggressive. Not yet. "You are a busy man and the Ferro Company isn't going to operate itself."

"It was a family visit, a short one. A family member passed away and I had to pay homage."

He made a pause as he patted and checked his pockets and when he didn't find what he was looking for, Azzurro let out a sigh and put his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. He kicked a piece of wood near his polished ivory shoes and looked at the earl again.

"My condolences."

"Thank you, they are welcome. But please let's avoid such somber things. Earl, when will be the next reunion?"

"We haven't fixed any date soon. Still, I came here for one more reason."

His voice sounded calmed and collected. There was no need for not being polite to him. Vincent took high pride on his diplomacy skills and he wasn't a short tempered man, no matter the circumstances. His left hand fidgeted with the chain of the pocket watch he had saved on his vest and checked the time. He still had ten minutes to discuss with Azzurro before going back to the corner between King Street and High Street. That was plenty of time. Three tanned workers passed by their side carrying a heavy looking wooden box and the earl raised his eyebrow to the other nobleman.

"What are you bringing today?"

"Luxury products, you know the stuff I work with. Ivory pieces, Tuscany crafts…"

"And, from noble to noble," Vincent brought his right hand to his face and caressed his chin with a distracted look on his face, his eyes following another group of workers which were unloading more goods. "What else are you trading? If there are reports to fill, we need to be able to avoid suspicion if needed."

The Italian man tilted his head and took a step towards Vincent, then passed one arm over his shoulders and pushed him forward. Both walked away from the ship moored at their side, away from the crewmen always avid of information. Once they were enough feet away Azzurro let the nobleman go and put his hands back inside his pockets.

"I'm not the one carrying weapons from the Continent, if that's what you came sniffing around for. We have a deal and I respect that."

"Let me clarify that I wasn't attacking you, nor your loyalty." The English nobleman curved his lips in a calculated smile. Enough to seem confident, and when the other relaxed his shoulders, he continued talking in a serene tone. "Until this day, you've been a good ally to count with, Azzurro. Several days ago, Lau _borrowed_ an Italian shipment full of weapons coming from the Continent. Diederich assured us that they were from Germany, but we have anything to tie both. I came to ask if you know something, and if it's the case, we can organize a meeting this weekend."

Azzurro Vanel took a deep inspiration and pressed his lips while he calculated dates and times of all the appointments he had. He frowned his eyebrows with concentration and looked around them. There were other three important families tied to the Ferro that he knew they could be trafficking with weapons, yet none which could be interested in making deals with the German Empire. He let out a sharp cough and covered his mouth with one hand, gesturing with the other to diminish the importance of it.

"I might have heard of it. Who will come?"

"Enough people to consider it a meeting. Are you staying in your townhouse?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll receive a formal invitation. Now, I have to leave. I'm glad we can count with you again, and I sincerely hope to see you this weekend."

"Worry not, _conte_. I'll be staying in London for a while."

Vincent extended his right hand and waited for him to shake it. Azzurro returned the gesture with a firm handshake and a veiled smile. When the earl turned over his heels and went to the crowd, a worker came babbling with a fast and distressed tone, and Azzurro looked away from the waving coat to the tanned man. He had already lost some precious time.

* * *

When the carriage stopped for the second time he had already his gloved fingers gripped around the handle of the door. Tanaka got down from the driver's seat and walked to the door. He had just put his hand on the outer handle when the earl opened it from inside. The butler moved aside to let him pass and closed the door behind him.

"Are we in a hurry, sir?"

"Lock the carriage, tie the horses and come with me."

They had stopped by Ratcliffe Highway and the warehouses built around the docks were swarmed by people. Vincent took a deep breath from his nose and put his hands inside the pockets of his coat. The air was dense and cold even when the sky had been clear when they had arrived to the city. Well, he thought when Tanaka appeared at his side and he looked towards the horizon, as clear as it could be in a crowded city full of industries. Long columns of smoke rose to the blue sky here and there, mixed with more fumes coming from the fabrics, and the private houses with coal heating systems. He started to walk towards where the warehouses gathered around the London Docks and hoped to locate the chief quick and easy. Tanaka walked behind him in silence, his steps matching the Earl's at unison, with his watchful eyes observing all the details around them. Most of the people were workers and merchants loading and discharging their cargoes. Nothing remarkable, the butler sentenced to himself when they went closer to the warehouses. It was the fifth they were looking for, a tall, wide building with orange bricks and a total of six floors. A metallic sign hung above the main door with the Phantomhive Company crest and the name written in tall letters. Vincent waited for a carriage to pass by him and crossed the road. When they arrived to the main door of the building, a man with ginger hair and brown clothes stopped them with a stern look.

"Good morning, my Lord. What can I help you with?"

"Lord Phantomhive wants to talk with the warehouse chief. It is an important matter."

It was Tanaka who spoke in Vincent's name while the earl examined his surroundings. The building was clean and ordered, its sturdy metallic structure reverberating with the workers coming and going and giving instructions around. The man in front of them took off his grey cap and bowed his head.

"Of course, of course! I shall inform him of your presence, sir. We didn't know you were coming."

"It's an urgency that couldn't wait to be announced."

"I bet it is, to have you here in person, sir. Follow me."

The man guided them inside the warehouse. Inside, the air felt thicker and columns of light poured from the windows opened in the upper parts of the walls. They passed by rows of boxes perfectly aligned in piles and climbed a metallic staircase that led to the office annexed to the building. From the squared windows, Vincent located the man he was looking for and gave his ring a whole loop around his finger. He would never get rid of that custom, he mused as the man that had guided them knocked the door. Inside, the warehouse chief got up from his seat and took off the fine glasses he wore.

"Lord Phantomhive, what a surprise!"

"Good morning, Edward."

The raven haired, large built man gestured to his subordinate and the man left the office with a polite bow. Tanaka stood behind Vincent while he examined the room. The usual hazel desk, the usual chair facing the workplace, the usual archives gathered in shelves around the place. Edward shook Vincent's hand with fervor and drew an arch with one of his big arms.

"Have a seat."

"I'm not staying that long" the Earl's voice had a serious tone that made the chief gulp. Had he done something wrong, something he didn't know yet? Vincent looked down to the workplace from the clear windows. "I sent you an important letter in November… When was it?"

"November 14th, sir" added his butler in a null tone. After that, he stood still as a statue next to the door.

"Yes, thanks. Did you get it?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir. What was it about?"

"Through some sources it came to my ears that one of your workers found a severed dog head in the warehouse door, Edward. Did you know?"

The chief tousled his handlebar mustache with his index and thumb. His hand trembled when he did so and his glasses, which hung from a silver cord from his neck, clicked against the buttons of his vest.

"Yessir. I should have noticed you immediately," he stuttered in the calmest tone he managed to compose. He fidgeted with his fine glasses and lowered his gaze when the Earl looked at him directly. He coughed and raised his chin with determination. "Y-Yet I didn't want to bother you with that. Here in the docks people are always doing that kind of things. The last week, some Syndicate workers found a strangled cat hung from…"

"I couldn't care less about those Syndicate workers."

Tanaka checked his pocket watch without interest. Five to twelve. Lunch was close and his master hadn't told him where he planned to eat. In the manor, Annabelle must had already served the dishes she had prepared for the day, and the handmaidens should had finished cleaning the children's rooms. He saved the pocket back in his vest. It wasn't a good thing when his master twitched his mouth in that way of his, like he had tasted something bitter, but almost imperceptible to the unknown observer. Vincent strolled up and down the office with slow steps and his hands entwined at his back. He stopped by the window and shifted his weight back and forth.

"My Lord, we took care of it as soon as we got notice of it. I apolo-"

"You've already told me how sorry you are for your mishap. Let's get to the next point."

Edward blinked with perplexity and took a step back from his position near the hazel wood desk. He almost stumbled with one of the chairs placed for visitors and gulped loudly. The Earl used to be a stern yet soft-hearted man whenever they talked. It really had to be something he was missing, there must be something else that was escaping his grasp, and he couldn't figure it. It was the first time he saw the Earl so angry despite his efforts to hide and keep his emotions in control, so disgusted with the situation, so _disappointed_ by him.

"Was it only one head?"

"Yes. One of the apprentices found it in the back door, hung from the frame with nails. Pretty gruesome."

"Did he found anything near it?"

"I don't know, sir, he just told us and we took care of it. We cleaned everything and threw it."

Vincent kept looking by the window. At his feet, the workers kept carrying their duties without noticing them, nor having a slight idea about their conversation.

"Can you call who found it?"

"I'm afraid I can't, the boy has been away two days and I got no notice from him. As soon as I locate him, I'll have a word with that lad. Such a despicable attitu-"

"Yes. I have a question more, and then I'll leave. I have many things to take care of this morning."

"What is it, my Lord?"

Edward cleaned his glasses with a soft cloth he saved in the chest pocket of his vest. The ambience felt lighter than before and the Earl looked more calm. That was important. And it hadn't been entirely his fault, no, he was a competent man. It was that lad's fault, he who wasn't there when needed.

"How was the head?"

"An ugly black hound. Does that matter?"

"... I see."

A silence fell between them as Vincent tapped the glass with one gloved finger. He turned over and faced Tanaka. He finally had a tidbit of information about something. He treasured that bone and put a warm smile on his lips. Edward blinked again and smiled back with trembling lips. The earl walked to the door and Tanaka turned the doorknob in silence.

"Keep doing a good job like you've been doing these years, Edward. Such an _indulgent_ attitude is something to praise."

"T-Thanks?"

"Notify me when the next shipment from India arrives."

"As you say, sir."

"Have a good day, Edward."

Tanaka closed the door behind the Earl, and inside the office, Edward rested his large weight against the desk with a hand over his chest. His breathing became calmer with each inhalation until he was fine again. He looked through the window and followed the Earl and his diligent butler as they left the building, still with his right hand clutching his beige vest and his heart throbbing beneath it.


	21. 4th December, 1885

"Give that back, you rat!"

Abberline looked around with his eyes wide open. He felt how all his muscles tensed ready to run if needed and his hand crumpled the paper he held. It was the third day he was in another slum looking for the missing children. So far he had no clues, not even about the scarred girl who was the most recognisable one of all of them. But the officer knew how the slums worked: just a bunch more of children without luck. A slim figure gave him a blow in his hip as it passed by his side and Abberline didn't look back to know that, whoever it was, was who had caused the ruckus. The furious insults of the baker grew in intensity at the same time they became distant when the young inspector ran towards the figure. Thin and with ginger long hair; that person wasn't in his list, but Abberline was someone who trusted his guts when he had no clues about a case. So he ran, dodging puddles and carriages and startled bystanders, trying to not lost the slim teen in the crowded streets. They turned a corner and Fred followed with a hand on his hat and the other crumpling the paper in a tight fist so he didn't lost it.

"Hey!"

The fleeing teen stopped their tracks when they found a dead end, and turned around to check if Abberline had caught up with them. Just when the teenager was cursing in a low voice and starting to climb a barrel placed against a wall, the inspector caught them by the sleeve of the brown jacket they wore around the shoulders. For a second, Fred widened his eyes when his fingers closed over an empty sleeve, but he recovered his composure in a second and yanked the boy by the waist.

"Let me go! I wasn't stealing anything!"

"So you paid for that."

Abberline let him go and the boy squared his shoulders with all the dignity he could compose. He was thin and tall, had ginger hair gathered in a ponytail and sported a pair of grey trousers some sizes bigger than his. He also wore a brown jacket over a woven white shirt, but only one hand shown under one of the sleeves. The boy tilted his head with contempt and stared back to the officer with a fierce expression.

"So what are y'a gonna do? Take it back?"

The officer looked over his shoulder in a second. He didn't want to lose the teen, but he had to see they were alone. The angry baker was far away from them, probably still cursing that poor rat, as he had called the teen in front of him. Abberline cleared his throat and started to smooth the over handled paper. Fortunately despite all the wrinkles the images were still recognisable.

"No, not today even if I should. You can keep that stale bread. He can make more. I need you to look at this," he said as he showed the paper to the boy. The teenager took a step towards him, but all his body language screamed that he was more than ready to run away from the officer if he needed to. His sharp eyes scanned the file with the missing children portraits and he wrinkled his nose. "I'm looking for them, do you recognise anyone?"

His eyes stopped for some seconds more when he looked at the scarred girl's portrait, and Abberline knew that he knew her. He also knew that he wasn't going to tell him anything. His guts were like that, and he followed them, no matter how many times Randall had told him to not to do so.

"I know two of them. But I don't think I can help y'a, sire."

"You owe me one."

"I owe _nothing_. But I know Doll, yes."

"Who's that?"

The teen laid a finger on the scarred girl portrait with his eyes scanning the empty dead end. He still could climb the barrels if he was fast enough…

"Someone I met. Why are y'a looking for 'em?"

"We're investigating a case. I don't want to detain anyone, I'm just trying to know if we can still find them alive."

"Look 'round the docks."

The police officer weighed that information and folded the paper carefully before he saved it in his pocket. The docks? He had been sent to the slums, but he could use his spare time to check around the London docks. The thing he needed to know was, which _one_? The city had plenty of them, and plenty of floodgates to inspect, too.

"Which one?"

But before Abberline could react, the boy had already ran towards the barrels placed against a nearby wall and had climbed them. And what a skillful landing. He stopped with one leg already over the brick wall and gave him a smile full of bright teeth.

"The Royals, sire, and thanks for the bread!"

With a flourish and a trained jump, Abberline lost him from sight and stood alone in the dead end street, still holding the paper in his hand inside the pocket of his coat.

* * *

Luck smiled to Vincent and the Earl was quite content. As content as someone with all the responsibilities he carried on his shoulders could be, at least. Looking for Pit had been unnecessary because the photographer had looked for him in the first place. Sometimes things just worked out. He signed an invitation for a Yule ball, which usually was Rachel's duty because the countess enjoyed everything that involved preparation ahead of time, and cleaned the quill. That year the ball didn't overlapped with Ciel's birthday and that was another thing to be grateful for. Even if it was because it will avoid unnecessary and pompous apologies, and excuses, and more social norms that would become an absurd. Vincent understood the social rules and played them well, but sometimes they could result quite a nuisance. The man got up from the chair and stretched his legs while his eyes were looking for the desk clock. Pit had sent a short telegram informing of his arrival at luncheon time; said telegram had arrived just the night before, when Vincent was busy reading a new report sent by Randall. The photographer was skilled and dutiful yet somehow messy in his procedures. Still, the young man was a good piece to keep around, especially when gruesome cases needed coverage –or a _lack_ of it– and Pit was more than predisposed when money was involved. The earl left the bureau in silence and closed the door at his back. He could take a brief walk around the gardens while he was waiting for Pit and maybe it would help to clear his head for a while. The ambience felt static despite the general calm around the house and he shrugged his shoulders both to put his back straight and to shake away the discomfort. The sensation permeated his skin and Vincent stopped his tracks in the middle of the hall to take a deep breath. He filled his lower lungs, counted down from five, and released the air from his mouth. Pit would come and they would discuss when will they met to take the family portrait; maybe they would talk about the current case, and they would enjoy some small talk. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyelids in circles. If only he could sleep better like he did before. He resumed his wander around the place and reached the next hallway, illuminated and unpolluted like the one he had just left. The games room wasn't far from there and that morning the children had had classes early, and the French governess wouldn't arrive until three o'clock. The closer he got to the room, the clearer the sounds became. A door was closed several feet ahead of him and Vincent chuckled. Hide and seek, of course, and even better if it included Sebastian.

"No, come back, you have to help me look for him!"

The Earl's smile widened when the sad voice was heard from inside the room. The door was ajar and a pitch black snout opened the wooden panel enough to fit through and slip out. Vincent scratched the dog ears with affection and got in one knee to pet him better. The borzoi wasn't a clingy animal; on the contrary, he ought be one of the most independent dogs Vincent had met, but he was the exception that confirmed the rule. The door opened more and Ciel looked at him from the same eye level with a frown on his forehead. When he spoke his voice was full of resentment.

"But I need Sebastian's help!"

The earl got up and patted his morning suit formed by a simple shirt, dark grey striped trousers, a light brown vest and a black jacket, before he ruffled the boy's hair. The frown in Ciel's forehead became a bit deeper and the child huffed. The sunlight coming from the window shone on his rings when he moved his hand.

"Did you count down already?"

"Almost. Maybe you can help us?"

"Do you need my help to look for your brother?"  
"He never loses at games," replied Ciel while balancing his weight back and forth. The longer it took him to count down, the more difficult it would be to find his brother. If only he wasn't that good at playing that game. Or _any_ game, for the case. He looked up to his father and tapped the floor with one foot. "And this time we're betting."

"Ah?"

That was interesting and would distract him better than a walk around the gardens. Vincent inhaled deep and crossed his hands at his back. He had been so busy the past weeks that he had left Ciel all on his own, he hadn't been behaving like the perfect father he _presumed_ to be. Sebastian pressed his head against his knees and he caressed the dog's neck with his right hand while keeping the other behind.

"What are you betting?"

"Some sweets that Auntie Angelina brought to us" replied the boy with a happy tone. "We saved the lemon caramels, the violet drops, and the licorice bars. Whoever wins the three rounds of three different games keeps them."

"I must assume it is because of the missing candy that you two have been eating so _little_ these days, hm?"

Ciel gulped and looked away, looked back to Vincent, and slowly looked down to Sebastian. He didn't want to earn a scold for hiding sweets in his room. But maybe he was reading too much in the stern face of his father and all of it was a teasing façade. Vincent raised an eyebrow in an inquisitive way and drew a hand to his chin.

"If I help you, I keep the licorice. And your mother should never find out if you want to keep the violet drops. You know how much she _loves_ them."

* * *

The ceremony wasn't being remarkable at all. One could had even said it had been _too_ plain, almost obscenely _stark_. The wind that swept the cemetery grass pierced through clothes and whistled in the nearby cypress branches. The mortician made a strangled sound to himself the quieter he could when he noticed that fact. People believed those trees were sacred to the Fates and the Furies, and it was also dedicated to Pluto. But those ideas were ignored by the majority apart of few scholars and all that was left were superstitions. He straightened his back. The priest kept reading a slow prayer for the young woman's soul. There were only four people around the recent grave: the priest, the young woman who had visited him three days ago, another nameless redhead woman, and himself. _What a way to go_ , he mused as he laid his eyes on the yellow puddle that were the daffodils resting at the feet of the pit. At least she had received visitors on her departure; the latest ceremonies he had been in had been quite lonely, and at least three times he was the only present. Somehow, the redhead woman seemed out of place and the mortician couldn't discern why. Maybe it was her long hair gathered in a low ponytail with a black ribbon, or her striking dark red coat; she cleaned her red framed glasses with a handkerchief and put them back on her nose with one gloved finger. The priest closed the fabric bound Bible he held in his hands and muttered under his breath the rest of the prayer. Despite his efforts that soul would probably just wander forever. After all, the mortician thought, there were _far_ _worse_ things than that. Undertaker picked up the shovel which rested against the cypress trunk and weighed the tool. The wind waved their clothes with increased intensity. The younger of the two women got closer to the open grave and threw a little bag with some coins inside; or at least he could have swore it had sounded like that, a low thud against the wooden surface of the coffin's lid. A payment for Charon*, the ferryman, even if with just one coin per person was enough. She got closer to the grave and stood in silence with her hands over her mouth. The priest started to leave with slow steps and with his book tightly clutched against his chest. The other woman tilted her head and frowned when she laid her eyes on him, but turned her head with grace and left behind the priest. Undertaker lowered his head and his hair hid his face enough to allow him to curve his lips in a discreet smile. Probably Charon wouldn't like the extra weight. The young woman turned to him with her hair over her face, waved back and forth by the wind.

"Thanks again."

"It's just my work, milady."

His tone was serious despite his voluble voice. And honest. The shovel made a metallic noise when the mortician nailed it on the pile of dirt at their side. The air smelled of damp earth and wet grass, of daffodils and strong cheap perfume. Out of nowhere, Undertaker had the certainty that the dead girl would have prefered carnations.

"Y'a could have sent me away."

She looked down to the grave and wrinkled her nose before she cleaned her face with a handkerchief and threw it inside the hole. Her voice was still bobbly despite all her deep breaths.

"She would've prefered carnations."

"Daffodils are a good choice, too. They mean a deep regard and the death of youth."

"Does it matter? What she liked."

She cleaned her face with one of the long sleeves of her coat and took some steps back. The mortician didn't add anything else and threw the first scoop of dirt inside the grave. It scattered all over the flowers, the handkerchief and the bag of coins. The sun shone between the cypress branches and the woman wrapped herself tighter inside the garment.

"I hope 'ey find any rest."

* * *

The man who guided him down there wasn't very talkative. Since Abberline had explained him the situation, the overall details of the case, and had demanded to access to the sewers, he could have said no more than five words in a scarce sentence. The inspector wrinkled his nose and fixed his eyes in the oil lamp held by the supervisor. It was one of the many names to refer to those who guarded and cleaned the sewers nearest to the floodgates. Their work wasn't pleasant nor relaxed but it was very necessary. One never knew _what_ could get trapped in the many iron grids that filtered and separated the Thames. Little water springs fell from the ceilings all the way down the moss-covered brick walls. The cascades shone when they passed by them, briefly illuminated by the oil lamp carried by the old man. He was barely taller than the young inspector and wore a heavy leather coat full of pockets. His hair, or what was left of it, was covered with a woolen urchin cap.

"Here it is."

Abberline gulped and fixed his eyes on the flickering flame first. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look despite his ample field experience. The water running at their feet seemed to sound higher than before, but he knew it was just an illusion, the water kept flowing with the same pace. The flame flickered again and the inspector blinked. He looked down to where the man gestured with one arm. He went pale and a wave of bile burned his throat. Under the orange light of the lamp and the green-brown water around the image just looked worse than it was. Frederick had found one of the lost children and _gruesome_ wasn't enough to describe their state. He made a flourish with one gloved hand when he took a handkerchief from the front pocket of his coat and put it over his mouth. He old man twisted his lips and moved the oil lamp away. The shadows engulfed most of the dead child and Abberline thanked him with a silent nod.

"When-" a cough interrupted the young officer and he cleared his throat; Frederick pressed the handkerchief against his mouth for a second. Then he saved the crumpled piece inside his front pocket. "When did you found him?"

"This morning. That poor thing must have been left here to rot, at least, for a week. But usually I don't come this far because this floodgate is almost never used, sir."

"I have to notify the central to pick the body. You have to come with me, so we can ask you some questions."

The old man sniffed loudly and scratched his jaw. His talkative attitude was gone as soon as it had appeared.

"Yes. Of course."

"Now, I need to get out of here."

"I assume you hadn't been down here too much, officer?"

"Indeed."

Frederick didn't like the implied disdain in his tone. He had been all around the city but it was the third time he had to investigate something in the sewers. The young man didn't like that web of old tunnels filled with water and vermin, human and animal alike. He preferred to be above the ground level, where he could know more or less what to expect behind a corner. The sewers were like the belly of a beast, polluted and dark. In his opinion, that wasn't a bad description for the city too. The old man passed by his side and he noticed the slight limp in the man's way of walk. An old injury in his right leg, ventured Fred as he followed him until they reached a rust-covered ladder anchored to the wall.

"Do you want to go first, officer?"

* * *

His feet hurt. Pressing his jaw he kept the smile on his lips. Inside, he just wanted to finish already. His mother was behind him sitting on a chair with a pale cream dress. The frill at the end of the sleeves made a whispering sound each time she moved a mere inch. _Again_. At his left was Ciel, who instead of being still and smiling like mister Pitt had told them, was swinging his weight back and forth. Their father placed a hand on the older boy's shoulder and, at least for a second, Ciel stood still. For a _second_. He closed his eyes and inhaled. It was just a family portrait before his brother's birthday. Ciel giggled under his breath and moved again. Just when mister Pit pressed a button, a click was heard, and a flash of light filled the room. The photographer waved his hands in the air to disperse the cloud of smoke with a smile on his lips. The freckles on his cheeks accentuated his childish appearance along with his unruly hair.

"Well! Let's see how this one develops."

Rachel moved in her chair with a polite smile and caressed her younger's son hair.

"Are you fine?"

"Yes."

But he wanted to complain about Ciel, about how he couldn't be still for some minutes when he was excited by something. About how _irritating_ it was. He knew he wasn't being fair at all and that, in the end, he was just angry because he had lost the candy games. If only their father hadn't helped Ciel to look for him… Pit smiled and turned to his leather bag to look for another flashlight.

"We can take another one just in case. Do you mind, Earl?"

"Take as many as you want. And Ciel, this time be still until we're done."

Ciel looked over his shoulder and smiled to his father.

"Sorry. I promise I will not move."

He snickered and blew some air to move a loose strand of hair that fell over his nose. He really hoped Ciel was being honest that time. Like the three other times before. His mother pressed his shoulder in an affectionate gesture and he relaxed his muscles. It had been just a game and a good and fair person shouldn't get angry over petty things. Least a noble, polite boy. They were just candies and he could sneak to the kitchens as many times as he wanted to get more. That wasn't the problem, the thought as he watched how Pit mounted and lit the next magnesium flash. He smiled on automatic. The problem was that he had lost on something, and he never ever lost.

"Now, be still!"

Ciel gave him a quick glance before he fixed his eyes to the front again. The boy held his breath when the magnesium ignited and flashed before his eyes. He blinked several times and shifted his weight from feet to feet. The indoors suit itched. He wasn't just moving for the sake of it.

"We got a good one! Now you can move and jump all you want, little lords."

He liked the photographer's voice. If Ciel concentrated on it alone, the first thing that came to his mind were the bards from Finian's tale and other folklore stories he and his brother used to read. Probably Pit was a good storyteller. The child scratched his neck and got down from the improvised scenario where they stood posing. It was just an arranged room with some fabrics hung and some decoration objects. Like a theatre.

"Can I see it when it is ready?"

"Of course. And I can make as many copies of it as you want."

"How?"

Rachel got up from her seat and smoothed her dress. Next she gave her delicate updo a tentative touch to see if all the thin silver flowers entwined in the braids were in their place. Finally, she stretched her limbs with discrete gestures. Her younger son went to his brother's side as soon as the photographer started to display his collection of extravagant tools. They were as curious as their father. But she was like that when she was young, too, Rachel thought fidgeting with the frilled sleeves of her dress. And so did Angelina.

"What is this for?"

"Be careful with that."

"And this?"

Despite his efforts, Pit was soon overcame by the curious boys who couldn't keep their hands still. Vincent chuckled at her side and she looked up to him.

"I told Pit not to let them near the camera."

"You know how they are." Rachel inhaled and turned her face to the boys. Pit was flustered and tried to save most of his equipment away from the children without being too obvious.

"Mister Pit, do you want something to eat?"

"I won't say no to a pudding, milady. I have to say, that the one I have here is the best I've ever tried."

The photographer looked a tad distressed and the countess knew too well that, if it was only by politeness, he wouldn't complain about the curious children assaulting him with questions. Rachel entwined her hands with grace before her chest and got closer to the three of them.

"I'd like to have a photography of the two of them alone, can I?"

The young man gifted her with a cheerful and slightly nervous smile as he put an expensive lens outside the boys' reach.

"Of course you do, milady. What about you two?"

Ciel searched for his little brother's eye and a smile flourished on his lips. He was going to turn ten years soon and of course he wanted to have a photo. Maybe he could ever place it on his nightstand if his brother didn't find it too cheesy.

"Yes! Please, will you pose with me?"

He knew too well that he couldn't say no to Ciel when he put on that sad face. He was tired and wanted to rest; and if resting involved eating pudding, the better. Yet the boy was right and it was his birthday soon and he wanted to be a good brother. Good brothers were nice to each other even when they were tired. And Ciel had been nice to him the past weeks despite their differences. He smiled back at his older brother and a light pink colored his cheeks.

"Where do we have to stand?"

* * *

* In Greek mythology, Charon is the ferryman of Hades who carries the souls of the recently deceased across the rivers Styx and Acheron in the Underworld.


	22. 6th December, 1885, pt 1

Lord Randall blinked to allow his eyes some time to adjust from the brightness of the streets to the shadowed room. The parlor wasn't a big building and the few windows it had were tinted in muted ochre tones. He took of his hat and hung it from a wooden rack behind the front door. Abberline closed said panel behind him causing a bell to chime. The commissioner twitched his mouth as he wandered his sight over the place full of displayed caskets, a console table with several models of hair memorial pieces, a little stand with a vase of lilies on top right near the console, and finally the shelves behind the ebony counter used as a desk. He examined without interest the voluminous books and the dust covered jars.

"Abberline, did you bring all the reports?"

"Yes sir."

A silence grew between them while Randall was examining the leather bound tomes displayed behind a windowed panel. The glass had a thin, almost invisible, layer of dust that clouded the space near the corners. Inside, the books looked as if they hadn't been touched in years. The man straightened his back and turned on his heels.

"I can't stand this place."

The young inspector didn't add anything to his superior's complain. The few times he had collaborated with the eccentric man the hardest thing had been getting him to accept a payment for his services. That, and the fact that he served the tea in _test tubes_ instead of regular chinaware. Lord Randall started to roam around the room in long, tense strides, with his hands entwined at his back. That case had definitely led them somewhere but it wasn't the outcome he wanted at all. And, to make things worse, it seemed that London didn't have enough morticians. The stern man pushed his thin silver glasses back to the top of his nose bridge and turned to the door near the shelves. It opened accompanied by the complain from the old hinges when Undertaker pressed the doorknob with one elbow and pushed the wooden panel with his back.

"Ah, Commissioner Randall, I thought you wouldn't come today."

Staggering by the weight he carried, the mortician reached the desk and started to left the mason jars placed on top of the wooden box he held with one hand. Randall pressed his lips with alarm when one of them almost fell to the floor, but the mortician caught it in time and left in on the desk.

"What brings you here? And with our beloved, competent inspector, too."

Another jar followed the two already placed in the counter desk. Abberline was some feet away and shifted his weight from one feet to another before he got closer to them. The folder with the case files rested against his chest held with one arm.

"You already know what we came for. The drowned boy from the sewers."

Undertaker left another jar covered in dust on top of the wooden surface. He tapped his long nails rhythmically against the crystal in slow arches. Each clink brought Abberline's nerves a little closer to their edge _. Clink_. He couldn't help it when the image from the sewer appeared clear behind his eyes. His hand gripped the edge of the desk and he tried to clear his throat.

"Excuse me."

Randall said nothing when he examined him with severity. Frederick dreaded dark, narrow places, just like the sewers, and he hadn't found anything pretty. _Clink_. Another jar and only one was left on top of the wooden box. The commissioner could have sworn that Undertaker had smiled with mischief when the young man had lost his composure for a second. But he couldn't really tell because he wasn't looking directly at him. The lilies flooded the place with a dense fragrance and he wrinkled his aquiline nose.

"Yes, I think I received it. What a poor thing," he left the last jar on the counter as he spoke with a disembodied tone, "All white and bloated…"

"Can you please save the details?"

"But you came here for them, didn't you, commissioner? I thought you must know that the boy was stabbed and gutted before he ended down there..."

He left the wooden box with delicacy on top of the desk. After he had wiped the dust from his hands rubbing them against his funerary robes, he twitched the corner of his mouth. Lord Randall hummed to himself and parted his lips ready to ask for more details, yet he was interrupted by a sharp sound from Fred.

"What?"

Abberline gulped, realising that he had just interrupted his boss, and went silent again. The ambience was tense; and the more he breathed in, the more he caught all the scents the lilies were _supposed_ to cover.

"You look pale, officer. Have a seat."

His eyes scanned the place and, with a certain glimmer of dread, the young man noted that there were no chairs. He waddled between the displayed pieces and sat on top of a pine coffin, the closest to the other two men. A long, heavy sigh, left his lips as he placed the folder with the files at his side. He felt like a clumsy rookie who had seen a body for the first time.

"I'll go to bring some tea. Commissioner, take a seat too."

"We don't have time for any-"

Undertaker waved his hand in front of the Scotland Yard chief with disdain in a wide flourish. He made a disapproving sound with his tongue and turned to the door behind him.

"We're going to discuss some _sour_ things, so something _sweet_ is going to come in hand, milord. I hope you like spiced biscuits."

* * *

The rain rattled against the windows with fierceness and the strong wind moved the nearby trees with hollowing sounds. Nobody would have believed him if he said that, an hour ago, a clear sky hung over the place. He laid on his back over the soft seat and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. The cream tone was gone and replaced by a mute warm grey. The child parted his dry lips and closed them again, unsure of what to say. Behind him, his brother kept inspecting the tall shelves of the library like he had been doing for the last ten minutes.

"Hey. Do you find anything to read?"

"I'm not looking for a new book. Have you seen…," his voice faded at the same time his tracks stopped. Ciel frowned and leaned on his elbow to sit up. He peered from the velvet seat's back. His brother had stopped in front of one of the shelves and had just made a gasping, choked sound.

"What's wrong?"

Ciel looked at the side table with a gas lamp resting on it, then to the empty dark blue velvet seat, and to the clouded skies through the tall window behind it. The sudden storm had interrupted their free time in the balcony when Rachel had called them inside with distress.

"I-It isn't here."

The older boy turned his head and followed the little child with acuity, narrowing his eyelids a bit. He shifted his posture on the couch and knelt on top of the rich upholstery. Ciel looked sideways to his feet and, once he had checked that the shoes were off the seat, he fixed his eyes on his brother's back again.

"What are you talking about?"

He turned on his heels with a distressed expression on his face. His eyes were wide open and his lower lip quivered a bit when he breathed from his mouth.

"The book, the book that Aunt Frances lent to me! She's going to be so mad!"

"Are you sure you left it outside?"

"Yes."

Before Ciel could react, nor jump from the couch to follow his brother, the boy ran towards the door and yanked the door with haste. He blinked with perplexity and stared at the hallway. Outside, the rain fell heavier than before. If he had forgotten the book outside it would probably be already ruined. The older boy ran towards the door holding his breath and headed to the balcony room. His heart throbbed with each ragged inhalation as he cursed his brother's forgetfulness. He could swore that, when he had casted a last look to the forged table, it was _empty_. A flash of lightning crossed the sky and bathed the hallway. Ciel almost tripped with his own feet when he halted with fear. He couldn't stand the storms. When he reached the room his brother had already placed his hand over the doorknob.

"You can't-!"

But his cry fell on deaf ears when he opened the glass panel and a gust of wind swept the room carrying dead leaves and drops of cold water. Ciel watched as the other child ran to the forged iron table and stood there in the middle of the downpour. The water fell all over him in loud waves and his hair was waved back and forth by the strong wind. He hurried to his side jumping the threshold which separated the room from the balcony and tugged his arm.

"You must have misplaced it, come on, it's just a book."

The rain kept bathing them as they stood in the middle of the balcony, soaked and breathing fast. Ciel wiped his face with the dripping sleeve of his suit and grabbed his brother by the arm with more strength. The boy let out a displeased moan when he dug his fingers in his forearm.

"But, Aunt Frances is going to be so mad at m-me."

"I know how scary she is but you can't be scared of her forever!"

His voice became a high pitched squeak when he pulled him back inside the building. It was like carrying a doll around whenever his brother became scared or anxious by something. Ciel left him in the middle of the room and hurried to close the panels beaten by the wind. He looked at his brother over his shoulder, who stood trembling and under whose shoes had started to gather a puddle of cold water. He had just locked the latch when their mother stormed in the room. The older boy turned around and went to his brother's side. He fixed his eyes in the puddle that grew under their feet. And that darn book wasn't out there.

"What… What happened, Ciel?"

He watched how Rachel got closer to them, the long skirt of her cream dress gathered in both hands and her hair disheveled by the rush of chasing them. When her warm hand cupped his cheek, Ciel gulped, bit his inner cheek, and looked away.

"I'm sorry, Mother, I know we aren't allowed outside when the weather is-," the older boy became mute when Rachel knelt in front of them and hugged each kid with one arm. Her hair tickled his face but Ciel delved in the embrace, realising how cold and wet he was.

"I thought I had forgotten the book Aunt Frances gave me… It's my fault."

Rachel rested on her ankles, still kneeling in front of her sons, and made a pout with her pink lips. Her right hand left Ciel's cheek slowly and she parted the wet locks from the younger boy's face with tenderness.

"My, my, don't worry about it, the book is fine." She spoke in a calm tone. She couldn't blame them for their reckless behaviour, and she could scold them later. The woman fixed her gaze to her older son again and pressed his hand with affection. "You two are going to catch a cold! I'll call Harriet to fetch a bath for you two and clean clothes."

He didn't move away when Rachel hugged him a second time, but his stomach turned when Ciel averted his eyes and twitched his mouth. He swallowed to try to wash away the sour taste from his throat, but with no avail. When his brother talked his voice was serious and cold.

"I hope you don't catch a cold after this…"

* * *

Randall was sitting next to Abberline and had a graduated test tube between his hands. The tea inside of it was still untouched; on the other hand, Undertaker had already served himself a second one, and Abberline was just taking a polite sip from his own tea. The mortician left the container on top of the desk and rested his weight against the counter again.

"At least we found one of them, Commissioner."

"But, wait a minute, sir. You said he was stabbed and gutted before he died, and then dumped in the sewers to rot. But what was that about a mark?"

Undertaker coiled his braid with his fingers and took a deep breath. The good part of working with Frederick Abberline was that he trusted his guts and didn't mind to speak out loud his thoughts. But sometimes he could be quite _stubborn_. He looked at him behind his long fringe with his eyebrows arched and a condescending pout on his lips.

"He had a burn on his left lower back, between the ribcage and the kidney area. It looked fairly recent, done with red hot iron, and I didn't recognise the symbol."

The commissioner shook his head with disbelief and left the untouched tea on the coffin lid. He took a breath from his nose and held the air for some seconds.

"Anything else relevant for the case? We're on a countdown from now if we want to find those children alive."

He weighed the idea as he rested his hip against the ebony wood and drew a hand to his mouth. An autopsy told so many things; they just needed to ask the right questions.

"I think is better if we wait until the meeting, milord."

Lord Randall tousled his right sideburn and lifted his glasses with his index finger. He couldn't simply keep Abberline in the dark, throwing crumbs at the diligent inspector and sending him to do fieldwork all around London without having a certain clue.

"I'm just saying that there are questions that ones," he made a little pause to sip his beaker and threw a significative glance at Abberline. The officer shrugged his shoulders with discomfort and embarrassment when he remembered how he had reeled before. "Might not want to hear the answers."

"Do you think it might be a serial killer?"

Abberline sipped his tea waiting for any response. He wasn't a rookie to be mocked around and he had shown plenty of times his diligence. Sometimes, working with the mortician was harder than others.

"No, the modus operandi it's too sloppy. There was no clean cut, it looked like that boy was… I'd say, discarded."

"By who?"

"That, inspector, it's not _my_ job" retorted the mortician with a sour grin on his face.

* * *

The masses of clouds gathered menacingly over the terrains had already begun to go away when Ciel sat on his bed wrapped in a soft white bathrobe. His azure gaze got lost in the window before him as he scanned the skies. Few dark clouds still hung over the forest that circled the house a certain distance, but it didn't look like it was going to rain anymore soon. A distant thunder echoed far away and sent a shiver down his spine. The child laid on his back. What a ruckus for a book that, in the end, their mother had already saved. Harriet, the handmaiden, returned from the dressing room carrying a dry indoors suit of two pieces. The servant left the folded clothes on top of the quilt near the boy and smiled with warmth.

"Do you like this one?"

"Yes, whatever you choose is alright."

She examined his expression with some concern. The boy was usually bubbly and, even if she would always keep that observation to herself out of respect, always up for causing havoc if it involved anything funny. But Ciel just looked away from the window and made a little pout with his lips.

"Do you want to share what is bothering you, little lord?"

The boy turned his face and some damp locks fell over his forehead and the bridge of his nose. A quiet groan of displeasure left the back of his throat. He was upset because his brother was always like that, so impulsive and reckless, whenever he was scared or distressed. But despite his disgust, Ciel couldn't blame him for being scared of Aunt Frances; he was the first one who earned her severe disapproving looks each time Elizabeth won their fencing matches. She wasn't disgusted: it was just that she expected the best from him, being the oldest son, and that no matter how hard he tried he never made it to the perfect top. There was always an incorrect gesture, a bad movement. Luckily for him and his brother, their parents were more lax when it came to imposing discipline. Sometimes he pitied his cousin and was sad for Elizabeth, because she was always trying her best. And between his own parents, Rachel was more severe than Vincent, in a strong contrast against how sweet she was on a daily basis.

"It's fine if you don't want to share it. I must get you ready for dinner, shall I?"

Ciel blinked and stared at the brown haired maiden. He had been lost in his thoughts and hadn't replied to her. _How rude_ , he scolded himself as he felt how his cheeks became warmer and blushed. The boy nodded complacent and sat upright on the bed.

* * *

That night they dine alone in almost complete silence. The guests would arrive later, not like the past weeks when they all had dined together. The younger boy twitched the corner of his mouth before he swallowed a spoonful of pheasant soup. He liked to eavesdrop the conversations between the friends of their parents. Even if most of the times he got lost in the complex things they discussed and lost his interest soon. He choked on the hot liquid and coughed loudly. His fingers clutched the napkin lying on his lap and he drew it to his mouth. The child blinked to wipe away his teary eyes and extended a trembling hand to pick up his glass of water.

"Darling?"

The fork scratched Ciel's plate when he tried to cut his portion of baked lemony chicken. The older boy squinted his eyes with aversion and picked up his own glass of water. His previous anger towards his little sibling was gone, it was just that the ambience felt charged with static between all of them. His delicate brother who, the last time he had been soaked by a downpour, had ended up ill with one of his attacks and had caused them to cancel a boat trip a year ago. Ciel shook his head to shunne his thoughts: he was just upset because Rachel had quarreled them once they had been bathed and wore dry clothes.

"It's nothing," replied the boy with a shy thread of voice. He left his silverware on top of his plate and drank his water in eager gulps. He returned the napkin to his lap and smoothed it lowering his gaze. The atmosphere felt thick and the tablecloth was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. The child peered in front of him and placed a dark strand of hair behind his right ear. Ciel kept munching in silence and, after some uncomfortable seconds, he smiled to him behind his crystal glass. Finally he looked back to their mother. "I just swallowed wrong."

The countess left her own glass and breathed relieved. The past weeks he had been healthier and she was sure she had nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, the child had ran into a raging storm because of a simple book. Her eyes searched for Vincent at her right, but her husband was looking down at his almost untouched plate. She left a quiet sigh from her half parted lips. If only Frances wasn't so stern with them, Elizabeth included. Rachel was the first one who imposed discipline on her sons when it was needed, yet compared with her character, her sister-in-law was always so perfectionist and sober. A little crease appeared between her blonde brows when Vincent twitched his mouth at her side. Her husband left the crumpled napkin near his plate and pressed his back against his chair. She looked for his hand across the table, his fingers were still clawing the fine linen cloth, and she tensed her lips when he moved it away.

"Sorry, I have to go upstairs. I need to…" the Earl forced a smile and cleared his throat. He caressed his wife's hand for a brief second with his eyes lost in the chicken piece displayed on his plate. He had had only three or four bites. "Fetch some documents for later."

"You need to eat, dear."

"I'm not hungry."

How could be he hungry with all the things he had to take care of? He closed his eyes before he placed both hands on top of the table. Vincent got up in silence, his chair scratched the polished floor, and Rachel tensed her jaw and grabbed her glass to disguise her disgust. He was starting to worry her with all those things happening behind closed doors; Rachel didn't want to know anything about the hidden face of London nor England, yet one thing was when Vincent could take care of it without problem, and other very different when his duties with the Queen started to interfere with his family.

"Can't it wait, father?"

"I have a meeting to prepare. You two have my word," his gaze went from one boy to another as he spoke. "And tomorrow I'll organise some games with you. You can join us too, if you want." He added throwing a glance at Rachel. The man felt a physical relief when his wife cocked her head and nodded.

"When do the guests arrive?"

"At quarter past eight."

"I'll tell Tanaka to bring you a portion of pie."

He moved away from the table and threw a last smile to his older son. He would have that portion _only_ if they didn't eat it whole.


	23. 6th December, 1885, pt 2

Lau sat still, slouched in his seat with his chin resting on the back of his hand, and watched. Like he always did, judging them in silence. At his side, Diederich sat upright and rested his hands on his stomach: the stern young man did that when he was lost in his thoughts; after all each one of them had their _manners_. Resting against the Earl's armchair like a vulture waiting for a feast, Undertaker examined his nails eavesdropping the long soliloquy of the Scotland Yard commissioner with a bored expression. But from time to time Lau saw him lift his eyes with an avid glimmer on them behind his fringe. _Waiting_ with expectation for the moment when he could treat them with delighted scorn. Meanwhile the Earl had caught an empty little glass from a near trail where some liquor bottles rested, and turned it between his hands. Vincent didn't drink until they were celebrating something or in the rare occasions when he was nervous; but never more than half of a glass, Lau had learned that from years of observation. He tilted his head and shifted his eyes, and his _attention_ , to Randall, who had just got up from his burdeos armchair to pass a brown folder to the Earl.

"... And that exposed, I don't think we should discard the idea of a serial killer this soon."

Vincent opened the folder and ignored the strangled sound the mortician made behind him. The autopsy files were clear and concise, it was harsh to read but, in their case, everything they were involved with ended up being more or less gruesome. The nobleman turned another page and eyed it to catch the relevant data and nothing else more; he would have _plenty_ of time to read it alone in the privacy of his bureau, any of the incoming sleepless nights that surely would await him. Diederich frowned and moved in his seat. A serial killer was the last thing they needed right then. He had travelled to London because he was sent to catch the escaped German criminal and he had stayed more than he planned in hopes of helping Vincent to return the favor. He peered at his friend while he leafed through the report. The room became silent. From time to time a sour pout twitched his lips and he closed the folder with a puff.

"What makes you believe he was discarded? asked the noble as he tilted his head to his right. He rested his cheek on the back of his hand and, with the other, extended the brown folder to his left. Tanaka stepped from his usual place near the hearth where he stood, quiet and still, whenever he was asked to stay. "Go to the bureau and leave this on my desk."

"Anything else, sir?"

"Yes. Go wait in the ale and if Azzurro comes, lead him here. You can leave."

"As you wish."

Tanaka walked with stiff steps and his long tailcoat waving behind him with a light whisper of cloth, made a polite bow to the guests, and left closing the door at his back. The fire sizzled and one of the logs broke with a sudden lash. Diederich fixed his pupils in the fire behind the earl and travelled his gaze from the chiseled mantelpiece. When Undertaker broke the silence with his discordant voice the young man suppressed a shiver. The ambience was tense like it hadn't been in months.

"He was dumped in the sewers to rot for at least a week. That boy was branded, murdered, and thrown away. If, let's say," He made a little pause to shift his position against the armrest and coiled his braid with distracted movements. "One just wants to gut a nameless boy, why take the time to brand him with a hot iron?"

The mortician looked at Randall with his eyelids half closed in thin chartreuse slits almost completely hidden by his fringe. Then he casted a look over Diederich, whose face was a book open for him to read, with his mouth twitched upwards and a deep frown between his brow. He took some sort of twisted pride in managing to upset him, a _condecorated_ military man, but he saved his smirk. He didn't want to earn a quarrel from the Earl. Vincent moved the empty glass between his hands once more before he left it back on the silver plate at his left.

"Was it a symbol? Or just a burn?"

Undertaker rested his weight against the armchair's backrest and laid his arm on top of it. He almost sat on the armrest when he did so, but like other times, Vincent didn't complain. Before he replied he made a click with his tongue.

"Hm. I'm not sure. It was like a branding mark, or a seal, the kind used to mark cattle. Due to the damaged tissue I wasn't able to recognize anything clearly. I apologize for the scarce information, Earl, but the vermin made a mess with him."

The commissioner had been listening to their exchange in silence lost in his own problems. He had sent Abberline and Wakefield that same night to inspect the sewers and tunnels in a radio of three blocks around the gate where they had found the body. None of them had complained, of course, yet Randall would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about his men. That little detail about the brand unsettled him and he could not discern why, exactly, was that the fact from the whole case what sent a shiver down his spine. In all his career he had dismantled several networks that trafficked with people and exploited children in many ways. Even a couple of baby farming* families. They had dismantled a resurrectionist** group which trafficked with human organs and corpses not long ago. But when they had found discarded bodies in any case they were just dumped down the Thames or found in cold fabric furnaces. The idea of the brand added _premeditation_ and, the man mused, some hidden purpose behind it. And he could only hope that not all children had disappeared for the same reason. Maybe some were just children who lived in the slums and the orphanages had lost their tracks, or they were society outcasts not wanting to be found; and they hadn't been kidnapped. He let out a long, deep sigh, and picked up an empty glass from the plate resting on a side table between his armchair and the one occupied by the Earl.

* * *

Ciel couldn't sleep a wink. The little child turned around in his bed wrapped in the heavy duvet. He laid on his stomach and buried his face in the feathery pillow. His warm breath condensed in the soft fabric and soon it felt damp against his skin. He breathed against it again, and repeated it. The action was soothing, a little suffocating, but it served to calm him down. At least for a while. He exhaled once more and turned his head so he could took a peek of his room. The warm fabric adhered to his cheek and he buried his face a little more. The light coming from the window, slipping through the curtain slits, drew disembodied shadows around the furniture and filled the empty corners. Ciel took a breath and sat against the pillows gathered behind him against the headboard. With his arms crossed over his chest, the boy groaned with displeasure. He was so _tired_ , if he was so tired _how_ was that he couldn't even lay still for more than a minute? The room was _safe_ , the _whole_ house was safe. Sebastian was sleeping with his brother; he had heard him sneaking down the hallway to get the Borzoi with him, their mother was asleep and their father… Well, he was downstairs meeting with his friends. The last time he had sneaked down to eavesdrop with his brother they had been caught. It had been a moment of bad luck, Ciel was sure, because if there was anything he beat his little brother at, was sneaking around. He didn't know what took them so long to discuss; it must be _important_ because the little he had heard sounded bad. Sometimes the meetings were brief and others they had left well past midnight. With those things in mind, Ciel sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his bare feet. A single ray of light crossed them and he swung his legs. Outside the heavy duvet, the air was cold and clinged to his skin, raising goosebumps on his arms. The boy didn't know if he couldn't sleep because of that, or because he was still worried for his brother. And _displeased_. He knew that the younger boy was shy, quiet and collected, it was just that some things put him over the edge. And those times it was his _duty_ as his older brother, as his _friend_ , to calm him with kind words, reassuring that everything was going to be fine and he would always be there to take care of him. No matter what. With a little hop Ciel stood up and went to the door of his bedroom on tiptoes. The floor felt cold but still he didn't want to put on his slippers. They always flopped when he tried to sneak around. Before he left, he went to the dressing room annexed to his to pick up a pair of woolen pants. He dressed with haste, casting glances to the door and the window even if he knew there was nothing there. Tanaka would be roaming around the corridors in his night watch around the house if he wasn't down with the other adults and Ciel didn't want to get caught. Once he was in the empty, dark hallway, he closed the door behind him. Despite his careful movements, the click echoed in the ample space and the boy gulped. He would check his little brother first, and maybe once he saw he was fine he could go back to sleep again.

* * *

"He said he was away because a family member passed away."

"And he said he was going to come."

"I see _how_ he did, Earl."

"Lau, watch your tone."

A howled, short laugh was heard, followed by a sigh. Vincent's voice rose inside the room, muffled behind the closed door.

"Dee, there's no need to-"

He got interrupted by a couple of knocks at the door. When he talked again his voice was more calm.

"Go ahead."

Tanaka opened the panel with a gloved hand and a bow to the guest who had just arrived. The man had been fidgeting with a pocket box of matches all the way down there. He acknowledged his bow with a stiff nod and went inside. His white ivory suit stood out among the dark ambience which flooded the room, between the dim light coming from the hearth and the dark tones wore by those gathered there. Lau was the exception, dressed with an intense blue traditional garment.

"Azzurro, I was starting to think you wouldn't come."

"I always keep my word, conte. I came as soon as I could."

The man went to the empty couch of two places near Randall and sat upright on it. His clothes creaked when he saved the matches inside the inner pocket of his jacket. He removed a lone dark blonde strand of hair from his forehead. Across the low table between the seats, Lau snickered.

"What did I miss?"

Vincent began drumming his fingers on the left armrest while he weighed his options. Of course, he had to tell him all the things that happened during his absence from the meetings, and yet the idea of not telling him more than the essentials nagged the back of his mind. He tugged the sleeve of the mortician's robes and gestured to him to get closer. Undertaker compelled with a quick glance to the rest of the noblemen and leaned over. His long hair fell like a curtain over his shoulder and blocked most of Vincent's view for a while. The last thing he caught was a frowning pout forming on Diederich's face. They had already discussed before the possibility of Azzurro being an unstable pawn. His voice was a mass of hissed words slurred together when he spoke.

"How much would you tell him?"

"Not even the breadcrumbs," whispered the tall man as he kept his precarious balance over the right armrest. "But you can't keep him in the dark."

The young earl waved his left hand and he straightened his back. The armchair let out a little creak and he rested his feet on the floor to gain stability.

"We're investigating the disappearance of some infants. One was murdered."

Azzurro Vanel frowned and rested his back against the couch. He crossed one leg over the other and wrinkled his nose with distaste.

"How unfortunate," he said with a neutral tone. His eyes wandered around the room and found an empty seat. "And Lady Svetlana? She couldn't come tonight I see."

"We can't rely on her anymore."

"She said she was going back to the Continent and then she vanished" Lau cut the English nobleman with a tired tone. He scratched his neck and drew a finger along the edge of his clothing. "At least we didn't find her down the Thames."

"I see…"

Undertaker took a deep inhalation and looked down to Vincent. He knew he could be a direct person when he wanted; he was an equally good strategist and patience was his forte. At least the majority of times. His gaze went to Lau and the chinese man gifted him with a sly, veiled smile. The seat protested when the Earl leaned back on it.

"I hope you already found buyers for the luxuries you brought."

"Yes, yes, I did. Tuscany pieces are valuable."

"Those are good news. Did you find anything about the cargo I mentioned? The smuggled weapons."

The tanned man relaxed in his seat and entwined his fingers over his crossed leg. He swung his foot in slow circles to diminish the tension built around his muscles. Ah, he thought, court politics and all those half tones the noblemen loved that much. With a confident smile full of teeth, Azzurro started to talk. He preferred direct conversations far over those watered down, schemish politics the Englishmen loved so much. No, he observed, from his experience it was always better to be direct. Unless it would go against his interests.

"The Murtha family and the Serpico siblings are said to be trying to do business with Herr Fehring. At least that's what my informants told me."

"I thought your family was in good terms with them."

"Conte, you know it better than all of us, it is better to keep your friends close, and your enemies _closer_. I have no problem with them as long as they mind their own business, and my family is quite acquainted with the Murtha, yet I do not trust them. Call it intuition if you want."

Vincent smiled with satisfaction. He then covered his mouth with one hand before he rested his chin on his palm, leaning forward with interest. His gaze met Diederich and the German man nodded in silence as if telling him to go on with his path of questions. Herr Fehring was supposed to be in France taking care of his meek company, trying to get new clients, or that was what they thought.

"Herr Fehring, you say?"

* * *

The door let out a low complain from its hinges when Ciel turned the doorknob and stepped inside. He could felt his heart throbbing as if it was just below his throat. Holding his breath he closed the door at his back. The room was engulfed in darkness, the curtains were closed and no moonlight made its way from the thin slits between the drapes and the floor. The boy scratched the back of his neck to try to shake his nerves off. There was a bulk in the middle of the bed and Ciel tilted his head. It had been a long time since his brother had slept like that. He used to do it too, whenever he was scared, but then he had grown up and didn't do it anymore. He was going to turn _ten_ years old in less than two weeks, he had grown from that phase. What kind of grown noble boy had those night terrors, thought Ciel as he went to the bed; not him, he was sure. His feet collided with a black mass and he looked down with surprise.

"Sebastian, why can't you sleep at the side? I almost stepped on you…"

His voice was loud in the room and he closed his lips with haste. The hound yawned and rested his snout on top of Ciel's feet.

"I can't pet you now, let me pass."

The dog rolled over his side and laid like that, as long as he was, on top of the soft carpet. The child made his way to the bed and closed his fingers over one of the corners of the heavy duvet filled with feathers. He didn't want to wake his brother up, just check if he was still _breathing_ under all those layers and hadn't smothered himself. Ciel lifted the cover and discerned his brother's face amidst the shadows, half hidden by one of his arms. He had curled up with his knees drawn to his chest and laid on his stomach. Soft snores left his half parted lips, unaware of his presence. At least it didn't look as he was having a nightmare. If he slept with his head outside the duvet it would be far better for his lungs, thought the older child as he tucked the duvet around his little frame. Once he had done that, Ciel stood still unsure of what to do. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, yet at the same time he wanted to sneak downstairs to spy the adults. The curiosity had made its way inside his head and wouldn't go away. Nevertheless, the child sighed and climbed the mattress. The bed was big enough to fit the two of them far more than comfortably; probably even Sebastian and his parents would fit. Maybe not the five of them, Ciel tried to calculate as he curled around his brother with slow movements. Knowing how hard was for him to fall asleep, the last thing he wanted was to wake him up. He laid in silence and got under the duvet too; hopefully he would not freak out when he woke up near him. The child yawned and rubbed his eyes.

* * *

"No, this time you stay here. I told you not to leave whenever you please."

"This is being a waste of t-"

"I can't simply spit it out, I need guarantee-"

"If you dare to step outside this room I swear-"

Lord Randall looked down to his distorted reflection in the glass full of scotch liquor he held between his hands. He rarely drank in their meetings, in fact, Lau could have sworn it was the third time he saw the police chief doing so. The first one had been two years ago after Undertaker had given them over detailed information on a case of murdered Indian immigrants. The second, when he had done the same with a case of grave diggers who sold corpses for indecent practices. Sometimes Lau had to ask himself if the mortician was just an odd man and liked to mess up with them, or if he was a sadist and enjoyed both the cases and their reactions to his revolting descriptions. The chinese man had got his hands dirty more than once, at least when he started his career in London's underworld; shortly after it had been Ran Mao's duty to take care of whoever was needed. She was a good person to keep around. Randall looked up from his glass and Lau smiled to him, then rolled his eyes. Diederich crossed his arms over his chest and rested his back against the seat with a bored expression. Across the low rectangular table, Azzurro stood with his hands inside his pockets.

"What kind of guarantees are you asking for?"

"Protection from Biagio Carmine."

"The baron?"

Azzurro Vanel took a cigarette from his breast pocket and patted his jacket looking for his matches. The smoke ascended in thin spirals when he took a puff from it. When he spoke the rest of the smoke left his mouth in thin waves.

"His men have been visiting the docks, cluttering here and there. Yesterday one of my men found a Bracco hung from one of the poles used to discharge the ships. I can bet my head it was them, those str-"

He left the sentence unfinished when the Earl lifted his head with a perplexed look on his face. He felt how the ambience changed, and the nobleman became anxious for a second, when his façade crumbled. From his seat, Lau made a whistling sound. Undertaker looked down at him, and he did his best to avoid his piercing gaze as he tried to find a comfortable position in his armchair. He had recluded, _buried_ , the dog remains in a dark corner inside his mind while he was working on other things. And then it was, floating back again like the rests of a wreckage washed by the waves. Except in his case, he wasn't still ready to take proper care of it. First Lau's den, then Undertaker's parlor, his own warehouse, and one of the Venel ships. He laid his eyes on Diederich; he had a townhouse, a little inherited property where he stayed whenever he visited the city. At least, as far as Vincent knew, it hadn't been attacked. Yet. It was just a matter of time until, like Undertaker had said -and the earl didn't like to concede him the truth too often- _they_ tried anything. But _who_ were they, _what_ did they want, were answers he didn't know. The only thing he was sure of was that it had to do with his Watchdog position. It had been only a matter of time before someone had tried to disrupt the established, yet precarious, order he kept with such hard work. He needed to think of a gambit.

"Was there anything else near it?"

"He didn't tell me, conte" replied Azzurro scratching his scarred cheek. His nails were straight and well-groomed, not like in the past when Azzurro used to bit them all the time.

"How long has he been working for you?"

Undertaker let out a soft whistle. The path down the rabbit hole might not be as closed as they thought. But, the mortician mused to himself with a cautious smile on his mouth, the question was if they wanted to go down there to chase their prey. Vincent truly deserved to be called a _trained hound_ , and a well trained one. At their side, the Italian man took another puff from his cigarette and went to the fireplace, where he threw the rest of it to the little flames.

"Two months ago, why?"

Vincent rubbed his temples with his fingers, and then his eyelids with his index and thumb. The flames gave a golden tone to Azzurro's impolute white suit, and the rings on his hands reflected the orange light. The Earl squinted his eyes and started to fidget with his family ring before he turned his attention to Lau.

"Wait. Lau, who found yours?"

He licked his lips to keep them wet and drew a finger to his chin as he tried to recall the events. The man snapped his fingers at the same time he leaned forward in his seat; Lord Randall inhaled loudly when the sound startled him.

"Two and half months, a new promising lad."

A static silence fell over the room. The men gathered inside it felt the air filled with electricity, which crippled under their skin and made its way inside their lungs. The fire hissed again and the second log broke in half with a loud sound. When Vincent spoke, clearing his throat first, his voice came out higher than he intended.

"Then they are at least three months ahead of us."

* * *

Darkness. The room was filled with it, flooded. It poured from the walls and escaped from the thin spaces between the floorboards. The air was made of it, got inside his lungs each time he inhaled, constraining his throat, smothering him as it coiled its invisible tendrils around his body. Ciel always said that if he was scared and got under the bed cover, nothing could reach him there. And he believed it, because he was his brother, because Ciel never lied to him. He opened his eyes and found more darkness. That time, however, he was able to recognise the faint shape of his brother's face some inches away from his. The boy snored softly from his nose. The younger child let out a relieved sigh and got closer to him, resting his forehead against his chin. Ciel moved in his sleep and tightened his embrace, his arms keeping the boy close.

"You are going to catch a cold, y…"

He didn't hear the whole sentence, because Ciel fell asleep again. He buried his face in his chest and grabbed his nightgown in the process. The duvet wasn't important for as long as they were together, because Ciel would always be there for him. He just hoped he could deserve that, being the burden he was for them. 

* * *

* Baby farming was the extended practice in Victorian times of nursing and taking care of unwanted children by poor people as a way to raise money and give those children to families who could give them a better life. But the practice was plagued with people who only wanted to make money and didn't care for the wellbeing of the infants, leading to them dying of starvation and malnourishment. There were several persons judged and condemned for that over the 19th century.

** Resurrectionists were people employed by anatomists during the 18th and 19th centuries to exhume recently deceased bodies. Because the high demand of hospital schools, the demand for corpses increased. In 1752 the Murder Act allowed judges to substitute the public display of criminal's bodies with dissection. And in 1832 the Anatomy Act gave free license to doctors, anatomists and medical students to dissect donated bodies. Still, resurrectionists were still employed, and human remains had plenty of uses and demands.


	24. 8th December, 1885

The sunlight turned the walls into bright white and damaged her eyes. She would had begged for anything to help her with her insomnia. To ease her headaches, too, she thought as she lowered her head to protect her eyes from the brightness around. Angelina Durless walked alone down the empty hallways with a good pace, her black coat flowing behind her with each lively step. Her red hair was unkempt and she had forgotten to paint her lips that morning. The leather bag she carried in her left gloved hand swung back and forth. For the third or fourth time it collided with her knee. _Thud_. She clicked her tongue, held a curse between her clenched teeth, and after what seemed an eternity, reached her office door. The key clicked and the doctor pushed the door with her hip. As soon as her mahogany eyes laid on her desk, she let out a muffled moan.

"Let's see what they have for us, girl…"

Alone, she could complain as much as she wanted. Her voice was weak and it sounded awkward in the empty room. Angelina wadded to the desk and left the medical bag on the little free space among the sea of paperwork. The list of patients for that day, the week-long schedule, another paper with the time tables, a report from the hospital's nursery, a letter with the Phantomhive wax crest… She raised her eyebrows and picked the soft envelope while she was pushing the chair back with her other hand. The woman laid on the seat and turned the letter, examining the rich looking paper and her sister's fine calligraphy. Angelina patted the desk as she looked for a letter opener. It had to be somewhere under any of those paper sheets. Knowing her sister, she would had sent a letter to the office and, just in case it got lost somehow, a second one to her house. Her fingers closed around the handle of the silver letter opener and she cut through the paper with ease. It was a mindless, mechanical movement, slicing from one side to another with a steady hand. Yet for a second she found herself looking at her reflection in the tool's blade. The woman blinked and left it on top of the desk. A cold wave ran down her back; she shifted her weight in the comfortable chair and unfolded the paper decorated with floral patterns. _How Rachel_. Of course, it was the invitation for her nephews' birthday. She had to schedule her duties to be free that day, and she had to look for presents. Other years she would had already looked into it, yet Angelina blamed her overwork and tiredness. She got up to took her coat off; the letter fell on top of her schedule for that day, and the doctor let out a long yawn.

* * *

The woolen robe whispered behind her, sweeping the waxed floor in her walk throughout the hallways. The manor was quiet for a Monday, when usually the servants were busy replenishing the pantries, cleaning the place and putting order around. The sounds from the servant's ale reached her ears softly, muffled by the distance, and Rachel took a generous breath of clean air. One of the tall windows opened along the corridor was open and a soft cold breeze moved her hair. She wrapped the white fabric around her body. Her hair was gathered in a quick updo, nothing elaborated nor fancy, because she hadn't visitors to attend nor places to go that morning. Vincent had left near dawn without a word and she had laid restless in the bed since then. Finally she had gave up and got up determined to check on her sons; breakfast could wait until they all were awake. Her mind went back to Vincent and she twitched her mouth. On Saturday after his reunion, he hadn't slept a wink. She knew because she had laid in silence, eyeing her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ * which rested on top of her nightstand, but too tired and worried to pick the book up and distract herself. She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard footsteps behind her, and turned her head to look over her shoulder with a little surprise.

"Ah, it's you, Tanaka."

"Excuse me, I didn't want to alarm you, my Lady. I was doing my morning round to check if everything was fine. May I help you with anything?"

The blonde woman exhaled and looked past the old butler to her sons' bedrooms. He caught her gaze and smiled at her. She looked as if she hadn't slept well, but even if his duty was to take care of the manor and its owners, Tanaka wasn't in a position to comment on her appearance unless asked to. He refrained himself and straightened his back.

"The little lords are still asleep."

"Yes, I supposed they were… Can you tell Annabeth to start preparing something for breakfast? Anything would do." Rachel clasped her hands on her chest with her fingers wrapped around the edge of the woolen robe. A lone strand of hair fell from her updo to her shoulder and she brushed it with one hand. "Tell her to just boil some water for a tea."

"Yes, my Lady."

With a bow to her, Tanaka went past his mistress and resumed his walk around the manor. He checked his pocket watch without slowing his pace. Eight to seven in the morning. The old butler threw a last look to the woman before he turned a corner in his way to the servant's ale, and made a mental note to tell the cook to brew the finest tea they had. Lord Vincent had left alone in the morning without telling him where was he going to; he doubted the countess knew, either. The woman deserved at least a tranquil morning to herself.

* * *

A click. Some footsteps. He hid his head under the sheets and hugged the pillow against his face. More footsteps. The little boy breathed from his mouth because under the duvet the air was more dense. His feet got tangled with the sheets but he didn't kick them. If he did, whoever had just entered the room would know he was awake and would ask him to get ready. One day less to his birthday and he still hadn't asked for anything; it wasn't like anyone had _asked_ him what he wanted _neither_. The footsteps stopped by the bed and he fought the urge to peek outside. He felt safe there, even if he had no fears because the nightmares had vanished. The duvet was lifted and he felt a dry kiss on top of his head, followed by thin, delicate fingers that combed his dark hair. He breathed with relief and distended his muscles.

"I'm glad you are fine."

Rachel's voice was soothing, low, warm. He felt her breath against his scalp before she left another peck on his head.

"Rest some more."

She moved away from him, went to the door with slow steps and opened the panel. The boy had sworn that before she closed it, she had looked over her shoulder. After he was sure he was alone once more, he dared to peek outside his soft nest. The bedroom was the same as always, with dull colors due to the absence of light. The drapes were closed yet they let inside some clarity. It must be early in the morning, he thought with his blue eyes fixed in the tall ceiling as he stretched his limbs. He kicked the sheets to free his legs and laid on his stomach. Unlike other days, when he would sneak out the dormitory and head to the kitchens before breakfast, he laid there with his arms crossed under his head. He stared at the long curtains and let out a long exhalation from his nose.

* * *

The first time the needle went through the fabric with ease. The second time, the thread got tangled with itself. The girl's lips were a tense line in the middle of her face when she stared at the knot that had formed in her embroidery. The sun coming from the window bathed her lap and got caught in her still half combed blonde locks. Her handmaiden could wait to finish her hair once she fixed that knot. She _needed_ to, no, she _must_ end up with a perfect pattern. The fine capital letter was almost finished and she smoothed the fabric before she tried to push the needle through it again. She could hear the brown haired young girl behind her opening drawers, moving jewerly boxes around, looking for the silver scissors she had requested. Her eyes went to the dusty pink wall in front of her and she stared outside the white window. The blonde child looked down to the embroidery hoop she held between her hands. The needle wouldn't go through the fabric no matter how hard she pushed it.

"Milady, are you sure you mother left them on your boudoir?"

"Right next to the ivory jewelry box. Look in the first drawer if- Oh!"

Elizabeth had looked over her shoulder in a second of distraction as she spoke. A red drop formed before her eyes in the middle of her fingertip. She hurried to move the white unstained cloth away and drew the injured middle finger to her mouth.

"What happened?"

There was alarm in her voice when the young maiden rushed to her side. The little girl nodded with her finger still pressed against her lips. Soon the copper taste flooded her tongue and she wrinkled her nose.

"It's fine, I should have used a thimble…" she mumbled while she was leaving the fabric on her lap. The child bent over and returned the silver scissors from under the long tablecloth that covered the table she sat at. When she looked up her cheeks were bright pink. "They were there all the time, I must had dropped them. Sorry for shouting before, Pau-"

"Lady Elizabeth there is no need to apologize! Now, let me tend your finger."

She extended her hand and ran the other all over the soft fabric. It wasn't the best present in the world, she knew it, it wasn't even her best embroidery work. But that way Ciel could had something made entirely by her. She kept her head low with her bright green eyes fixed in the embroidered capital C.

"Paula. I want you to be honest."

The handmaiden looked up from the hand she tended and smiled to the distressed child. She applied a gentle pressure with the corner of her frilled apron.

"Yes?"

"Am I a bad cousin?" asked Elizabeth in a thread of voice. Her usual excitement was gone and replaced by distress.

"Why would you say that?"

Paula removed the apron from the girl's finger. The needle hadn't went too deep. She held Elizabeth hand between hers when she avoided her compassionate gaze. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder and tickled her cheeks.

"I only embroidered a handkerchief for Ciel because he's always joking about having one like Uncle Vincent does. I," Elizabeth took a sharp breath which she held inside her chest; anyhow, her voice came out brittle when she sniffled loudly. "I don't want him to feel left out, it's just that I don't know w-what present will he enjoy-"

"Hush, lady. We will think of a present together. Please, don't cry over it when it can be fixed."

The maiden bit her lower lip when Elizabeth freed her hand and wiped her watery eyes. Her mistress was a nice and kind child, prone to crying and getting emotional over little things, but she had a good heart and good intentions. Paula got up and picked the embroidery hoop from the girl's lap. Then she left it on top of the table near the silver scissors. Elizabeth sniffled once more before she regained her usual zest.

"S-Should I embroider anything? Auntie Angelina is always saying a girl has to show off her feats whenever she can." She made a pause and her face lightened up a little. "It isn't the only thing I know."

"Now that's a better idea, lady Eliz-"

"Paula, Lizzie is fine."

She tilted her head up and rested her hands on her lap. Elizabeth curved her lips in a shy smile to the older girl who fidgeted with the end of her long brown hair gathered in a laced ponytail.

"Lady Frances says that we must address your and Lord Edward in an appropriate manner."

"I don't see my mother around."

* * *

Ciel should be paying more attention, he knew it, it was just that he didn't care. With absent minded steps the child left the room where they had attended their French classes as he planned on going to the lower floor. The weather wasn't as bad as the past days and, despite the fact that he knew it was better to finish his homework first, he couldn't wait to step outside. The manor was bright, calm and cozy in a contrast with the terrains swept by a chill wind. His azure eyes went to the paintings displayed along the hallways.

"Wait."

A landscape with a clouded sky and a mill at the far left, with an ochre tree on the right side. If he recalled it correctly, his father had told him it was painted by a man called Constable**. He didn't remember the name. Next, a sunny countryside view with golden tones by another painter he didn't remember. Vincent liked to brag about how he had obtained each one of the paintings he owned, between presents and heated auctions; yet when he was alone with him, walking past the long hallways, he admitted that he just owned them because they were gifts from important people, and they gave him status. He prefered the little pieces hung in his bureau, or the porcelain figurines their mother placed here and there in the consoles displayed around the house.

"Wait, please."

The French class had been a disaster even for him, who took pride in his language skills. He had forgotten to read the lecture requested by the tutor. Then he had failed conjugating the past tense of the verbs. He frowned his soft eyebrows and entwined his hands at his back as he paced down the hallway.

"Ciel, just wait already!"

It wasn't like he didn't _want_ to wait for him. It was just that he could reach him. His strides weren't that fast. He stopped by a tall picture window to look over his shoulder when he heard hurried footsteps behind. His brother carried the French book between his arms, held against his chest, and had a distressed look on his round face.

"What?"

"Don't be so… mean" he stuttered between short breaths. He straightened his back and balanced his weight on his tiptoes. A little wrinkle appeared over his nose bridge when he frowned. "Are you upset because of how the class went?"

"Hmm."

The boy wasn't in the mood for that kind of conversation. His brother had done nothing wrong nor nothing to him, it was just that he was angry and he happened to be there then. Turning his back on him he resumed his walk to the lower floor. Some fresh air would be perfect, Ciel remarked to himself, and then maybe a sugary tea. But his little, his stubborn little brother, wouldn't leave him alone. The boy grabbed the sleeve of his white indoors suit and sniffled softly.

"You did well. I'm sorry she quarreled you like that. Miss Camille can be rough sometimes."

"No, you don't, if you mess something they are not that hard on you," he grunted with a tired tone. Ciel looked at him with a bit of disdain. Not because of his words, not because of his actions; because Ciel knew he had a good will. The little heir rolled his eyes before he let out a long breath from his mouth. His lip twitched upwards before he spoke. "I don't like being scolded."

"You did fine and more than enough. She was rude when she said you would never help father if you kept up like that."

The older boy moved his gaze to the window, and back to his brother. The child gulped to distend the knot inside his throat. Ciel was always bubbly, not grey and harsh like that, and it worried him. His fingers went limp and the sleeve got free from his grasp.

"She meant it. One day I'll have to help father, and take care of all, and what if I can't?"

"You know you will do it just fine" he retorted in a calmed tone. The knot inside his throat was gone, as soon as he knew for sure that Ciel's rage wasn't directed towards him. He had his right to be the weak little boy, too. He moved in a blink and hugged his thin frame in silence. For a second, Ciel stood still, cold, until he returned the hug with some reticence. A soft whine caressed his ear when he squeezed his brother a little too hard. The French book pricked his own stomach, trapped between them. His dark hair tickled his cheek and nose.

"I won't go anywhere, don't suffocate me."

"Shut up."

After what seemed like more than two minutes, Ciel let him go with stiff arms. He dusted his suit and held his chin up.

"Where were you heading?"

His voice was soft against his harsh one. He was just trying to help, and he couldn't always be the strong one. His eyes went to the window once more, from where he observed the treetops swung by the rising cold wind. The boy felt how all the remaining desire for going outside vanished with that. He swallowed.

"Do you want a tea? We can ask Tanaka to bring us one to the games room."

When a shy smile curved his brother's lips, Ciel wondered when had they switched places, and when had he become the gloomy child, and he the cheerful, reassuring one.

* * *

Frederick halted his rushed steps with his eyes fixed on Wakefield's back when he was almost hit by a worker carrying a wooden box. The man threw him a glare and mumbled under his breath. Still, part of the insult reached the officer's ears and he clenched his teeth. Couldn't he see they were on an important duty? The young man looked to both sides of the little commercial street they were passing by before he crossed the road. Wakefield, taller than him and with his jet black hair combed in place; not like him, who wore his hat to hide his rebel locks, looked over his shoulder. His voice was dyed with tiredness, the same tone one would use to scold a naïve child.

"Abberline, we aren't going anywhere if you keep stumbling with people." Fred almost made it to his side when he hit his hip with a nearby barrel. "Or objects, for the matter. Do you have the direction's list?"

"Yes, yes" Frederick patted the front of his brown coat until he found the folded sheet tucked in the inner pocket. He extended it and smoothed the wrinkled paper with care. "We should be close."

"Did you cross St. Francis' Boy's Home? I already visited it with no avail."

"Of course."

The officer looked around them and moved the paper to block it from his companion's view. The man, taller than him and dressed with a coal coloured suit, snickered and walked down the street without waiting for him.

"You aren't good telling lies, Abberline. That's a good thing. Or bad, in some cases. Let's see if we locate any entrance to the maintenance tunnels around."

The young man frowned when he didn't find any good reply to shut him and lowered his head. The paper creaked between his fingers when he tightened his fist around it. Just because Wakefield had graduated with honors it didn't mean that he was more capable than anyone else. In said case, he, who had also left the academy with high recommendations. They turned to the right and kept trying to reach the river walk in the labyrinth they had stepped on. London suburbs and slums had that effect; no matter where one looked, all the houses squashed ones against others felt similar. It was easy to get lost in the crowds of people if one wasn't paying attention to their steps. Wakefield put his hands inside the pockets of his long tail coat and raised his head to try to catch a glimpse of the next intersection.

"When you went to the orphanage, did anything feel off to you?"

"It depends. I'm not very fond of Catholic organisations, you know, but they do a decent job taking care of those children."

"I mean, like trusting your guts, that kind of odd."

The inspector kept walking by his companion, shook his head and let out a low chuckle. People of all ages kept swarming around them without paying too much attention to the officers nor their conversation. In appearance, at least; both men knew they weren't very welcome down those places, and the earlier they left, the better.

"One does not follow his guts, Frederick. Or if we do, we disguise it and call it unseen evidences. Some of the nuns creeped me out, but that was all. They had no clues about any of the children."

"You are right. That's weird, isn't it? One of the best known orphanages."

"I didn't trust them. Everybody always knows something. They must have a reason to shut up in this case, and I don't like it. If that's what you call trusting your guts, they I have to concede you a point."

Both men shared a look when they passed by a common lodge house at their left. Wakefield peered at the paper that Abberline had just unfolded before his eyes.

"It doesn't figure there."

"We lose nothing trying it."

The entrance to the building was a regular wooden door with no marks on it, which was open and tied to the wall with a rope. The hall was bathed in sunlight coming from the doorframe, a tinted glass open in the front wall of the building casted some light over the counter, and an oil lamp rested on top of the wooden surface. The man sat behind it was in his mid-fifties and didn't looked up at first when they stepped inside. Fred walked to the counter and put his hands inside his pockets with all the calm he could gather.

"Good morning."

"We have no rooms left today, come back in the afternoon to try" was the man's response without even looking up from the pamphlet he was reading. Judging by the illustrations, a penny dreadful, Abberline noted. The man groaned when he realised that they hadn't moved and raised his head. The chain of his thick framed glasses waved along. "Didn't you hear?"

"But we're not here to rent any room, sir. I fail to see how you could come to such conclusion."

Frederick looked up to his companion when the man stepped forward and waited at his side. The older man made a exasperated sound and took of his glasses. Once he had cleaned them with a nearby cloth, he rested his back against his chair.

"Then what is it?"

The paper left Fred hands when Wakefield took it with an elegant movement. The sheet laid on the counter and the man bent over to examine it.

"Do you recognise any of these children? Have they been here, or have you seen them with someone?"

The officer twitched his mouth and examined the rest of the room. It was a little entrance, with a cabinet and a couple of shelves behind the man, next to a wooden table from where the rooms' key hung.

"Lots of people come and leave this place, I can't keep an eye on them all. My eyesight has become worse and worse."

"Obtaining a license to keep a public lodge house is difficult, and I don't think you want to risk to lose it because, well, let's say someone sends a patrol here at night. Dear sir," Wakefield's voice became soft like velvet, dyed with a veiled menace behind his honeyed appearance. "It would be a shame if we discovered any kind of deals with children, hm? I don't care if you bribed others in the past to keep their mouth shut, there are plenty of indecent people in our organisation, it saddens me, but it's true. Now, I won't repeat it."

"If you two coppers come to my place and think you can threat-"

All manners had been lost in a second. The inspector kept his smooth smile plastered on his lips and didn't even blink when the house owner stood up from his seat. He was broader and almost as tall as him.

"We came just asking questions politely and that's how we are going to leave."

"Get out." His eyes went to the paper with the portraits. Wakefield noted how he laid his eyes a couple of seconds longer on one of them, and retired the paper with a flourish of his hand. A pair of dimples adorned his face when his smile grew. "I haven't seen any of those lads, I say. Try around the orphanages, I only house workers."

"Thanks for… your collaboration."

Frederick had been watching the exchange from a couple of feet behind, his eyes jumping from one man to another each time they spoke. Wakefield was calm and his breath was regular; in contrast, the man had started to show purple marks on his cheeks. He threw a last glance to the place before they left in a rush, and ignored the hand gesture the owner dedicated to them. Definitely, they weren't welcome down there.

* * *

A bark was the first thing he heard. Next, a door closing. But who could it be? It was late and night filled the manor with shadows and weird shapes around. He shuddered and covered his head with the duvet. The curtains were closed but he could hear it. Tap. Tap. Little sounds against his window, like a beak tapping the thick glass. Or like heavy droplets in a downpour. Tap. He opened his eyes and found only more shadows under his blankets. The door of his room creaked when someone opened it and stepped inside, carrying with them a flickering light. A candle, maybe, just one judging by the scarce orange glow. Barefoot steps, the candleholder being placed on the nightstand with something else.

"Are you awake?"

It sounded like Ciel, but that didn't meant it was Ciel who spoke. The line between sleep and vigil was thin and fragile. He shivered and left out a displeased moan.

"Go away," mumbled the boy in a trail of voice. He couldn't speak, it was like his illness had came back and each word cost him a big effort. "You are not real."

"I brought you something. For the coughs."

He took a quick look outside his improvised fortress made of blankets. Ciel stood by the bed, wearing a bad buttoned nightgown and no slippers. He held a cup between his hands.

"What is that?"

His voice came out hoarse and he sat against the headboard with difficulties. His brother watched him with his lip twitched upwards and a crease on his forehead. Once he had laid against the pillows placed behind him, he extended the cup to him.

"Milk. Tanaka caught me trying to climb to the cabinet to pick some honey."

The cup was warm against his cold shaking hands. He almost spilled it before he blew the hot liquid inside. Ciel sat at his side, the mattress let out a creak under the child's weight and he moved his legs to left him more space. The older child patted him over the duvet.

"I can fit."

"Did you really climb the cabinet? I-" a wave of coughs interrupted him, yet he didn't know how he managed to not spill the beverage at all. He took a sip and let out a relieved sigh which sounded like a purr. "Did grandpa get mad?"

"No, he just laughed and told me to get down before I broke any jar. Now, hush and drink it, you will hurt your throat."

He swallowed, and gulped with confusion when he swallowed nothing more than his own saliva. He was alone in the room, still covered with a duvet over his head. No taps on the window, no Ciel bringing him things to ease his pain. He laid on his stomach and hugged the pillow against his face. Just any book would do, he thought before he drifted into a deep slumber once more. He didn't knew if he wanted to celebrate his birthday at all. At least it would be a cake, the child mused as he yawned against the soft cloth. And he could repeat.

* * *

* _Wuthering Heights_ is the only novel by Emily Brontë, and it was published in 1847. The book is listed as a tragedy, and tells the tale of Lockwood, a man who in 1801 rents a manor in the moor country of England. He meets Heathcliff, his landlord, who lives in a property called Wuthering Heights. Lockwood asks his housekeeper to tell him about that place, and the written recollections of those stories conform the novel.

** _Dedham Lock and Mill_ , by John Constable, is a landscape painting made in 1817.


	25. 10th December, 1885

Frances Middleford was looking outside the window with a soft crease between her ash blonde eyebrows. Alexis, her husband, had already joked with her about how her worries were going to impact her physical appearance soon if she didn't relax, to what she had forced a smile on her thin pink lips. A woman of her position and importance couldn't afford _not_ to worry, Alexis knew it, and he just tried his best to support her. Her cold eyes went down the vibrant terrains to the paved road that stopped at the manor's entrance. A carriage appeared inside her field view when it took a turn of the road. Waddling and trotting down said path, it finally stopped by the carved staircase. The horses puffed and Frances focused her attention on the driver, moving her gaze from the white fountain which adorned the front yard. She fidgeted with her wedding ring as she watched how the old butler who drove the vehicle got down from the driver's seat to open the carriage door. Tanaka hadn't changed too much since he had started to work for the family, he looked just as agile as he was, despite his age. When she had been at the Phantomhive estate with Elizabeth she hadn't pay the old man that much attention as she was doing then. He was how she remembered him when he served her mother, before she left the house to marry Alexis, before _she_ left too. Vincent exited the carriage, his dark bluish hair swept by a cold wind that had been roaring around the house since early in the morning; and it was still early, Frances had declined her eight o'clock tea because she was nervous. But, of course, her excuse had been politeness. What kind of sister would had breakfast alone when her husband was outside, her children were still asleep, and her brother was visiting? A host had to watch all those manners, and Frances had learned them well. The Earl adjusted his gloves, gave a light pull to his coat, and stepped aside to leave the door clear for anyone else. Vincent used to visit her alone, or with Rachel, sometimes with the kids. If it was a Watchdog issue, he would call for her to one of their meetings, or come alone to put her up to date… The woman let out a short blow of air from her nose, one would had said it was disdain -or _surprise_ -. It had been years since the three of them had met alone like that; of course, they had coincided at Vincent's manor. _Neutral_ terrain. With other people to fill the uncomfortable silence, others to babble and keep her busy, away from the unease he provoked on her. It had been years and Frances still remembered _that day_ as if it had happened the last week, when the funeral had been arranged. She let out the air she had been holding inside her lungs. The corset constricted her ribs and a sour pout curved her mouth. She raised her chin with resolution. A woman of her position had to be calm, had to be collected, couldn't afford to be swept away by petty memories of the past. She turned her back on the window and went to her desk.

The birthday invitation to her nephews' party rested, still closed, on top of more important documents. Rachel's fancy calligraphy contrasted with the rest of the official crests and signatures around, and the marchioness took it with mild interest. She knew that she was delaying the moment, turning the expensive paper between her fingers, trying to avoid the inevitable - _whatever_ it was what Vincent had come to tell her; for once, she wasn't interested-. The wax seal was ripped when she opened the lid and held the letter with both hands. The empty envelope fell on top of a document sent by one of the Queen's butlers, Frances started to read, and the carriage was taken to the stables. The horses neighed and their hooves stomped the pavement. The woman folded the paper and let it on top of the unread letters. She hadn't thought of any presents and a sting of guilt struck her chest. She had had lots of things to fix and care for, as the head of the Queen's Knights, and she was sure her brother hadn't went all the way to her home to discuss details about the upcoming party.

* * *

The hall was bathed in a soft grey light. A clock from the servant's ale gave the hour. Quarter to nine. The footman, a young boy with his hazelnut hair combed in place and a gentle smile on his round face, snapped from his thoughts when the bell rang. He opened the wooden panel of the double door and bowed before the visitors with elegance.

"Good morning, sirs. Lord Vincent, it's been quite a while. The Marchioness is in her bureau, and the Marquis is away in the city, shall I call for her?"

"It won't be necessary, Marcus. Take their coats and tell Rosaline to bring us a tea."

The young man straightened his back, turned over his heels, and bowed his head with reverence. Frances tightened her grip around the carved railing. She went down the stairs with her chin pointed up and the long skirt of her mid Brunswick green dress lifted with her right hand just enough to not trip with it.

"Where are you going to be, my Lady?"

"The tea room in the first floor will be fine. How was your trip?"

Marcus took the coat offered by the Earl and the top hat of his companion. He waited some seconds more, because maybe the man wanted to take his long coat off too; the tea room counted with a little hearth which had been lighted early in the morning, after all. But he just stood there in silence, a couple of feet behind Vincent, examining everything but the Marchioness with childish interest as he hummed a song to himself. The young servant faced the woman again. He had no right to judge her, her brother, nor the companies he brought with him. The Earl gifted him with a bright smile and for a second, Marcus bought it, it was warm and sincere. Except for his _eyes_. He had the same look the Marchioness had when she had scolded the young Lord or the young Lady, when she knew she had been harsh but she had to. The coat felt heavy between his arms and he rushed to the wardrobe where the guests' clothes were stored. Rosaline would know which tea would be the best for the Marchioness troubled mood that morning.

* * *

He knew he was dreaming because it was spring. In the real world he was tucked under his duvet and a blanket. Inside his dream, he had just sneezed when the flower crown had touched his head. And they had laughed out loud, before he sneezed once more. For once, Sebastian didn't bark at him for nothing –because he never, ever barked, but he _used_ to bark only at him–, and Rachel watched them from a distance with a smile that reached her eyes. He took the hand offered by Ciel and got up from the grass. There were little green spots on his knees amidst the bright white woolen shorts. With his free hands, he protected his eyes to look up to the sun hid behind some white clouds, and…

* * *

The door was closed with a click. It wasn't a loud sound yet it was enough to wake him up. He grunted, rolled over his stomach, covered his head with the blanket. Years ago he slept like a log and it took a lot to woke him up. Then he almost thanked when every little sound woke him from his nights plagued with weird dreams and bittersweet memories. The footsteps he had heard after the click reached the end of his bed. The child curled up in his spot shivering under all those warm layers. It wasn't that cold outside since the heating system that run behind the walls had been turned on days ago.

"Hey, sleepy head, how are you?"

He sneezed. In his dream he had sneezed twice, that dream that was a glossed memory from when he had rested inside the manor while his family had left him behind to… No, he corrected himself, when he had rested inside because he had been sick and didn't want to ruin the mood again. Like when they had cancelled another boat day and Ciel had pouted at him.

"I know you are awake- Ouch!"

A thud was heard when the other boy collided with the feet of the bed. Ciel hissed and made his way to the headboard. It was then when he uncovered his head with a little inhalation. The room was still filled with shadows because his brother hadn't opened the curtains to wake him up -which he thanked-. In the middle of those dark puddles, Ciel was the closest one, devoid of color and with his eyes wide open trying to discern anything.

"Are you hurt?"

His tone was deep and his words came out slow from his mouth. His tongue was dry and he clicked it with disgust. The child used his elbows to move until he rested his back against the wooden board. He might had kicked or thrown away most of the pillows in his sleep, and his brother should had tripped on one.

"No. Are you in a mood for a chess game?"

"Ciel, I hadn't even had breakf-"

He knew without seeing him that the boy had just waved a hand in front of his face. It didn't need to be said out loud. You silly little brother, I meant _after_ you have eaten something. Ciel's tone, in his head, was harsh, like he had spoken to him when their French teacher had quarrelled the older boy.

"I told Tanaka to get some tea with milk ready for you. Mother is in the bureau reading letters, and father left early."

"What time is it?"

"Must be close to eight in the morning."

A yawn escaped his mouth when he sat on the edge of the bed. He shouldn't feel like that, but a part of him was still and alert. Ciel was his older brother and he loved him. He knew that. He was also harsh with him when things didn't work out as he expected. He knew that as well. The last weeks had felt like a turmoil, his brother had been swinging from his kind mood to his reckless one without warning. Their birthday was just two days away. As he got up from the bed, he felt Ciel's gaze piercing him from his side, making him feel nervous.

"Why a-" he left the sentence unfinished when he knelt to pick the slippers from behind the bed. "-chess game?"

"I don't like checkers" replied Ciel stretching his legs. He waited for the younger child to put the shoes on with an eager smile on his lips.

"Agreed."

The child put hi slippers in silence after that answer, unsure of looking up. It was only his imagination, he always felt tense when he woke up, Ciel was acting nice like most of the times. He took the hand offered by the older boy and smiled to him.

"Did you ask for biscuits too?"

* * *

The tea room was slightly bigger than the main tea room in the Phantomhive manor and, in Vincent's opinion, it was far more over decorated. He was the second to cross the cream coloured threshold, with his sister leading the way in and Undertaker closing the committee. He had had his doubts about bringing the man with him; it had been some time since his sister and him had met and they weren't close at all. The issue, however, was older and no one's fault. Things just happened, and Frances disliked him because, for her, he was a constant reminder of Claudia's absence. More than any portraits or memento mori's she could had saved from then. The earl took a seat in a soft lemon cream couch of two pieces; the mortician sat by his side, Frances closed the door and went to the tea table.

"Suit yourselves, please, It's a peony and lavender infused green tea. I don't fancy stronger brews, sorry brother."

"I trust your taste."

The woman relaxed her back and sat on an empty armchair next to the table, close enough to her brother and far enough from him. Vincent took the porcelain teapot and served her first. They made eye contact over the thin vapour ascending from the cup in front of her. Frances gestured with her right hand and reached for the porcelain saucer.

"Enough, thanks."

Her brother raised his eyebrows. She, for a second, looked away from his almond eyes. They might had been living apart for years but they had grown together. Vincent gave her a quick reassuring smile before he went to serve Undertaker. The mortician negated with his head and pushed the cup away from him with two long fingers.

"Sorry to decline it, Marchioness, it smells great. I'm not in the mood for a beverage."

The Earl threw him a glance. Like countless other times, he ignored it and rested his back against the couch with a polite smile on his face. Now that Vincent noticed it, he had been serious since he had dropped by his parlour to pick him up. Instead of his usual chatter and jokes to bug him during the trip, he had barely replied to his comments about the visit to the Middleford estate, and even less to his efforts to bring up the conspiration issue. Once he had served himself, the young noble left the steaming teapot on its plate and reached for the sugar.

"What brings you two here this morning, brother?"

The sugar cube fell in the cup with a wet sound and, for a second, the man weighed the idea of adding one more. The next cube fell on top of the other, he picked the teaspoon and started to stir the liquid.

"To discuss the birthday party. Have you got the presents?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, because it's all related. Now it is, you can scold me now, for all those times you warned me and I scoffed in your face that the family would never be involved. I came to put you up to date."

Frances rested her teacup on its saucer and both on her knee. A knot started to form inside her throat and she removed some ash strands of hair from her forehead. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear what Vincent had come to tell her. With her free hand, the woman smothered a crest on her skirt.

"I've been occupied resolving inquiries for Her Majesty like you have been, I couldn't attend the meetings."

"And I shall not call you out got that. We both have our duties to take care of."

Undertaker let out a quiet, almost silent, suffocated snort. Vincent ignored it and still, for a second, he almost could her his _fortunate_ remark, something along the lines of both of them being leashed to the Queen.

"The birthday first, then I'll tell you all the details you need to know. We'll go to London because I promised the boys to go on a trip the four of us, and now that both of them are in good shape it's the perfect time. But there will be no party until Sunday. A modest thing, just the family and some close friends."

"Herr Diederich will go, so will you, I assume" said Frances before she took a sip from her tea.

Undertaker nodded with his hands entwined over his lap and one leg crossed over the other. He seemed awkward, stuck between the couch and the low table, being the tallest of them.

"It will be a pleasure, of course. I don't know if mister Pitt will attend."

"He already took some pictures of the boys. Still, I'll call him to see if he can come. It will be weird for him to say no to an invitation if it includes pudding."

The marchioness watched their exchange in silence, focusing her gaze on her brother the best she could. It wasn't that she couldn't stand to look at the mortician directly, she wasn't childish nor mean. But each time she caught his eyes behind his long hair Frances felt a wave of unease washing over her. Maybe there were her own nerves, she had been on edge the last week with the Queen's Butlers dropping by and giving her trouble, and there was her brother to bring bad news. She left her cup on the table and cleaned her mouth with a napkin which she folded with care after she used it.

"Alright. On Sunday. I'll bring some food, and Elizabeth will bring some presents, you know how she is. Edward will be delighted to go out. How is all of this tied to your Watchdog duties?"

Vincent swallowed and left his teacup on the table as well. Tense, but relieved, he cleaned his mouth with a napkin. The elephant in the room had been addressed, at least, but the noble wasn't sure of how to handle it. He folded the used cloth on his knee and tapped the arm of the couch with his left hand.

"First of all, I wish it wasn't. And despite the warnings, and your advices, I didn't expect it will come to a situation like this."

* * *

The chess piece made a click when Ciel placed the pawn on its tile. The breakfast rested in a silver plate at their side, half eaten, because both children were occupied trying to place all the carved pieces in their spots.

"We have to return it to the library before father returns."

"Why?" asked Ciel while he picked up a tower from the wooden box where the pieces were stored. He had just climbed a chair to reach the cabinet between the shelves where Vincent stored the chess board. He knew their father saved it to play with his friends, and they had their own set of chess. But the big wood and marble tabletop with those carved figures was far more enticing than their more basic set. It must had been expensive, maybe a gift, or a commission. He took the black horse and gave it a turn between his little hands. "We will be careful and before he comes back it will be saved in its place."

"Our games tend to be long."

"I don't think father will come to have lunch with us today."

The boy left the white tower he held in its tile. His other hand patted the silver tray until he found his teacup.

"It worries me."

"Why is it?"

"What we heard, down there." The boy took a sip from his cup, left it back on the tray, and proceed to look for the next piece to place on the board. "In the reunions. I don't like it."

"You don't have to worry about it, I'll take care of that too, when it comes to it!"

Ciel's enthusiast tone felt empty in the games room and he flinched. It wasn't voluntary and his brother didn't mean to say anything bad. It just happened, like when he tried to suppress a cough and it still escaped his mouth. Or when he couldn't sleep and all the things he bottled up during the day roamed free around his head until he fell asleep exhausted. Yes, Ciel would take care of that, too. Ciel would take care of everything. And he was relieved because he didn't think he could stand all that pressure. Yet at the same time, he didn't like all the things that included. The older boy noticed his change of attitude and reached for his hand over the board.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you just stated what is true."

"I thought you'd be happy with… everything."

He shrugged his thin shoulders and gave another turn to the white king held between his fingers. The carving was excellent and the piece was smooth, it almost didn't feel like wood at all. Ciel stood on his knees and bent to him over the board, toppling some of the pieces he had already placed. He avoided his brother's big blue eyes and followed the black king as it rolled down the edge of the marble surface. He straightened his back and rested on his knees as well. Ciel had entwined their fingers so he used his left hand to move better. The chess piece dug his palm when he did so.

"And I am, is just that sometimes I remember what Diederich said, and how all of you laughed."

"We never talked about it."

"He was hard. He's always so serious, except when we have dinner together and he acts more relaxed."

"I didn't like what he said."

Ciel caressed the back of his hand with his thumb. He looked for his eyes, but his brother had averted his gaze again. The boy took a deep inhalation.

"Me neither. You'll be good taking care of some things better than I."

"Yes, specially because you hate reading."

The older child examined his face, looking for any clue that let him know if he was being serious or sarcastic. It was like looking in a mirror, when they pulled that kind of expressions.

"You know that father reads a lot of documents" he said returning the hand gesture. "And that's a lot of reading."

"He also does a lot of math."

"That's _your_ forte" replied the younger boy with a smile on his face. He left Ciel's hand free and moved to his side to pick his cup again. It was almost empty, so did the milk jar when he checked it. Meanwhile, his brother had started to pick up the fallen pieces. "If we _ever_ finish placing the pieces, do you want to go search for mother later?"

"Of course, if we do."


	26. 11th December, 1886, pt 1

"Do you remember Arthur O'Connor*?"

"I do, your Majesty."

Vincent assumed that the best thing he could do was follow that trail, wherever it could lead him. The meeting had started in good terms, with Her Majesty being in a cheerful mood; something strange to witness in all her widow years. Vincent didn't feel particularly lucky for being able to see it, though. Her Majesty was an unreadable book for him. And that made him _nervous_.

"I think I should talk with Charles about increasing the guards around palace."

"Excuse me, but who is Charles?"

"Ah? Didn't I introduce you three already?"

The young noble smiled behind his tea cup and shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm afraid you haven't, your Majesty. Is… Are they new servants of yours?"

"My personal butlers, yes. They will be the ones to contact you from now whenever I need to send you any urgent petition."

The woman composed a self satisfied smile and left her tea cup on top of the silver tray with golden details that rested on top of the polished table. That day the weather was nice and warm; summer had just begun a week ago. She went to the open balcony with her widow garments whispering behind her with each little movement. From there, she glanced at the young man sitting still. Vincent had married Rachel a year ago, they hadn't conceived any child yet, but they were a happy couple in their early twenties. So far they hadn't starred any scandal. The public had a good opinion of the Earl of Phantomhive, who employed lots of people in the docks and was generous with those who inhabited his terrains. The Chamber of Lords, however, begged to differ. They didn't trust him, nor his predecessors, and some ill-intentioned lords had even started rumours about the Phantomhives trying to dethrone her. _Nonsense_. The relation between the monarchs before her and the Phantomhive family dated before the Enlightenment. Sometimes they had deviated from the path marked, but _measures_ had been taken to correct and prevent said mishaps. After all, one didn't train a greyhound in a day. Victoria watched how Vincent cleaned his mouth, got up from the seat decorated with fleurs de lis and fixed his jacket.

"There is another thing I wanted to told you about."

"What is it?"

"You ordered me to investigate a list of important persons in the high spheres, looking for hints of treason, plots or misconducts."

"Yes. Did you find anything new?"

The Earl bit his inner cheek and squared his shoulders. It was his work and the Queen had no complains about how he carried it. _The end justifies the means_ , he recited to himself. And at the end of the day, her hands were still clean, she still ruled the country with the popular praise. Not long ago he had had a heated discussion about it, yet the man tried his best to ignore that intrusive thought. Claudia, and others before them, had inherited the title and all that it encompassed. It was his legacy. The weight they had to carry on their shoulders. And if Rachel and he had a child one day, he or she would take the title after him.

"Vincent, what is it?"

Her voice was dyed with impatience. The earl blinked and held her steel gaze while the woman returned to her seat. He had to show more will.

"Some coroner might be involved in human trafficking with children. And there's this other high ranked man in the Parliament who has participated in-"

"You are saying that one man of such importance might be involved, exactly, how?"

"I'm not saying he's the one kidnapping them, nor selling them or taking profit. But, your Majesty, we both know about people like Aleister Chambers. Just because their personas are loved by the public doesn't mean they can get away with everything."

"The Chambers family is in a delicate position and you know that, Vincent."

"So you are saying that he, indeed, _can_ and _will_."

The Queen twitched her upper lip with disdain.

"I will not tolerate that tone."

The young man left his teacup and held his breath. He bragged of being cold-headed, to know how to play by the rules and bent them at his will and needs. And there he was. Faulting her respect. _What would the punishment be?_ , he mused licking his lips with his jaw tensed. After what felt like a whole, everlasting minute, he lowered his head.

"Excuse my manners."

"I thought you had learned some things this far."

"I do. I apologize, Your Majesty."

The sweet scent coming from the teacup mixed with the herbal smells coming from the open balcony. He wrinkled his nose. It was suffocating, almost. The clear tea reflected the ornamented lamp that hung above their heads. The Queen moved in her seat. She adjusted a loose pin from her hair. Then, slowly, a smile appeared on her face. Vincent didn't feel less threatened by it. On the contrary.

"Accepted. Now, now. What's next?"

His eyes went from the serious woman to the open balcony. The curtains made a soft sound moved by the breeze. He could tackle the issue. There were layers and layers of it, it was just a matter of knowing how to lay everything down.

"So far, freemasons, rosicrucians and minor covens haven't given us any trouble." Vincent started talking in a calm tone. He didn't even know how much Victoria knew, and how much she kept quiet about. Members of the Royal Family had been personally involved with said organisations, even occupying important titles inside them. "The two first aren't what bothers me. And as far as I'm informed, the weirdest thing those covens have done are sabbaths in the Northern woods, because someone said it had been a druidic temple there centuries ago."

"I see."

"And there are pilgrimages to the Swinton Estate** each solstice and equinox. But that has nothing to do with what I'm referring to, I'm afraid."

"Have your investigations tied it with the trafficking cases?"

"Not quite. I'm still gathering information. Chambers could hold an important position. And there's the military men who have high ranks among them."

Victoria entwined her hands over her lap. Her fingers toyed with the black embroidery of her widow dress.

"If it's one of these flourishing societies interested in studying ancient things they don't have to be necessarily a problem, my boy."

"One thing is to dabble in spiritism sessions because it's been a sensation in France. To pick interest in John Dee's writings*** because some Russian noble starts debating his theories about angels. Even the recent interest in ancient cultures, with all those archaeological discoveries the past decade… A very different-"

* * *

"... and hot chocolate instead of tea?"

"We'll see, don't get too ahead of yourselves, the day is still long."

Rachel looked for her husband's gaze across the comfortable carriage. He didn't notice it, as he was looking outside the window, lost in whatever case he was taking care of those days.

"Vincent?"

"I think hot chocolate might be a good idea if the time keeps being this cold."

Outside, the landscape had started to shift from the last rural properties to the former outskirts of the city. Here and there, masses of snow splattered the fields, ones thicker than others that had started to melt. The trip was going on smoothly, everything was running as Vincent had predicted, which filled him with serenity. He drew a hand to his dark bluish hair and brushed some strands from the bridge of his nose. Later they would encounter the usual collapse in the middle of the city, where the commercial areas which surrounded the Thames confluenced. He would take Rachel to Fleet Street, and if they went to the retail galleries that filled Oxford Street, he would buy her a little present. The Earl looked at his sons. When they had gotten inside the carriage they had spent some minutes until they had settled who would seat with whom. Ciel sat at his side, bouncing with enthusiasm. He had lost the count of how many times the child had muttered " _Tomorrow"_ under his breath, to be almost instantly echoed by his brother in a hushed tone. A little choir of " _Tomorrows_ " kept his thoughts at bay, for a while. Vincent scratched his left wrist where the hem of the black leather gloves applied more pressure. That conversation with Her Majesty had happened more than five years ago.

"Ciel. Hold these for a second."

With that, Vincent took his rings off without difficulty and flexed his fingers. First, the family ring; the signature crest followed it. Ciel pressed his lips in a contempt smile when he examined them closer. The sapphire reflected the light in a myriad of shades; it never failed to hypnotize him. The crest ring was smaller and made from gold. It was heavier and felt warmer in his palm.

"Can I try them, father?" asked the child in a soft, strangled thread of voice. His eyes followed the deep blue gem in awe.

"Of course."

Whenever he had the chance of trying the ring, a little knot grew inside his stomach. One day he wouldn't just hold the silver piece while his father was taking off his gloves. One day it would be _his_ , like it had belonged to his grandmother before his father; however, his brother would never have the chance of owning it… He could only hold it when Ciel asked him to do so. His little brother, who dreamed of being a toy maker instead of helping him with the difficult duties of an Earl. Or even a priest. He didn't like to think about what the future could bring. He could always convince him to live in the Phantomhive estate, after all it contained several little towns… His younger brother, who was more patient than him, both with Elizabeth and other people. It wasn't like Ciel was short tempered, just that he preferred to be more direct whereas he took turns around topics. Who gave him jealous, shy looks from the opposite seat of the carriage. Who averted his big blue eyes when he caught him staring and cleared his throat before he looked outside the window.

"It's... So bright."

At his side, his father smiled. Vincent closed his eyes for a second to ground himself when his mind started to wander about the case. Again. He was on a family trip. It was not related at all with his Watchdog activities. He had been _longing_ for one. It was no time to think about anything related to the case. His only duties that day were to savor the time he was going to expend with his family at the fullest. He would meet the next week with Diedrich and Randall.

"I know. But now I'd like to have them back."

His son let out an embarrassed chortle and left both jewels on his palm. The gloves rested on top of a pearl white scarf when he left them at his side.

"Can we buy candies?"

"If your mother let us, of course. Can we, dear?"

Ciel hit the seat structure with his heels, overwhelmed by his excitement. Finally they were going on a trip together, no one had to be left behind. He didn't have to worry about having to return in a hurry, now that his little brother was healthy. Their mother seemed to be in good shape too. And the next day it was their birthday. He hadn't given it too much importance: yes, he would be ten, and he would have presents, but at the same time the last weeks had felt like a carousel… Rachel moved in the opposite seat and the soft upholstery creaked, catching his attention. Her pink lips curved in a mischievous expression.

"Maybe if you three behave we can get some."

Vincent raised an eyebrow when he spoke with a fake hurt tone.

"Why do you include me in that?"

Despite having a little stack of violet drops hidden in his room at the bottom of the wardrobe, new sweets were always welcomed. And he could always sneak with his brother into the kitchens when Tanaka was busy, and therefore, distracted.

"We will!"

The energetic child hit the seat again when he swung his legs with a wide smile on his round face. His mother frowned.

"Don't kick the seat, sweetie. It's not a very good start."

Ciel nodded with a serious look, and then he took a loud mouthful of air. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't wait to get out of the carriage. His heart still felt like a trapped bird inside his chest. It was a special day, but that didn't mean he could escape her quarrels.

"Yes, mother. Sorry."

"Are we going to the Thames?," asked her younger son in a thread of voice. When Rachel looked down to him, the child gifted her with a bright smile. It was warm but not as wide as his brother's expression. "I hope it is frozen so we can walk on it."

"I doubt it will be frozen, dear, it would be troublesome for the ships."

"Plus," Vincent added, "The current is stronger than it used to be, if the water flows more freely, it's more difficult for it to become ice."

"Aw, I wanted to see it…"

"It's still Autumn, we will plan another trip if the snow allows us. On Chris-"

"But the weather is being so cold! The fountain in the front yard was frozen this m-morn-"

The child interrupted himself when he tripped over his words. Soon, his cheeks were covered in a soft pink tone. He didn't meant to interrupt his father, but he just _couldn't_ wait to see the city. It had been months since they all had been in a trip together, even if it was to a close place like London. Ciel let out a loud laughter. His father looked at him and caressed his dark hair. Sometimes he wondered how different they would had look if they had inherited Rachel's golden locks and his plain almond eyes.

"You know that the arcs on the bridges are wide, hm? They allow the water to flow better."

"Oh, I see, I see."

Ciel nodded with a solemn look. With no more bounces nor kicks, he moved to the edge of the seat with eagerness. He stared at the landscape with shiny eyes, biting his inner cheek and gasping when he spotted some foxes near the road. But before he could point them out, they had already hidden in the dark bushes. He faced his father and listened eager to his explanation.

"The fountain froze overnight because it is slower."

"And, can't like, a little portion of the river freeze?"

"Sometimes, but it's more likely to happen outside the city."

"Because the factories, right?"

"You are right. It's nice to see that you were paying attention to the latests lessons I gave you two."

His brother's curiosity was even more difficult to sate than his own. The boy chuckled and snuggled his forehead against his mother's arm. She circled his shoulders with one arm and hugged him. Her eyes met her husband's. The Earl let out a soft pleased hum and tilted his head. He leaned over and reached for her free hand. Rachel entwined their fingers and curved the corner of her mouth. He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, tracing her knuckles. So far, the most difficult thing had been convincing the boys to wear several layers of winter clothes. And later, once they had sat in the carriage, Rachel had taken said layers off. The various scarves, gloves and heavy coats were folded in the empty space near Vincent and Ciel. The vehicle jumped when they crossed a little stone bridge, they let their hands go, and Rachel closed her fingers over the air. They hadn't brought any food with them, because they planned to eat something in the city. She swallowed to keep her throat wet. The carriage passed over a patch of ice, it broke, and the sound of splashing water reached her ears. She drew a hand to his son's head. Her fingers curled some locks and the boy, though reticent at first, delved in the gesture resting his head against her ribcage.

"I'd have to give you a present tomorrow, too. I shall be thankful for having the three of you with me," said Vincent after some seconds in silence. It was a calm kind of silence, and he almost regretted breaking said atmosphere.

"Then you will help me keeping these two away from the kitchen. That's the only thing I ask for."

"You can count on it."

* * *

Randall locked the drawer and left the copper key on top of the documents that flooded his desk. The Scotland Yard commissioner wrinkled his nose. He had to inform Vincent immediately, but Abberline was busy inspecting another district with Wakefield, and the list of officers whom he could trust could be counted with the fingers of one hand. Yes, all of them were diligent men with their duties clear and held in high esteem, but not everyone knew about the affiliations of their chief. The Watchdog wasn't unknown among the police; still, Randall kept a close eye on _what_ was said, _how_ was it said, and _when_ was that information revealed. If his only source of troubles were the newspapers he would not have to worry about any slippery tongues between his men. The man got up from his tall chair, circled it, and stood near the window. The day had dawned clear, some low clouds marred the sky, but that was all. The clouds of smoke from the factories headed for the sky in lazy dark columns, waving back and forth. The Earl hadn't called him for a meeting, his sons' birthday was the next day and they used to meet on Saturday evenings. He would gather all the information he could, and when Herr Diederich convoked him, he would attend. After that, they will put Vincent up to date the next week. Risky as it was, Randall thought that the Earl must really trust the German official enough to let him take care of some of his duties. There were, of course, matters in which the nobleman preferred to dirt his own hands; but he left others gladly in charge of second and third parties. He was a strategist at the end of the day, a _brilliant_ one, if anyone ever asked Randall. The commissioner shuffled the papers until he found the reports filled by Wakefield, took them off their brown folder and eyed them with his mouth tensed. A child had been found dead, they had only a thread about the scarred girl, and not a single trace about the rest of them. According to the autopsy, he presented several traumatisms, a clean cut from his sternum to his navel; plus the stab wound, remains of a scorch… There were more details, but he just gave the inform a quick glance. It made him feel sick. He could despise the mortician as much as he wanted, but at the end of the day, he was efficient in his work. Maybe far _too_ efficient, yet useful. The man let out a long, deep, tired breath and closed the file. Despite his ample field experience, the things he had seen during his training years, followed by his years as a mere officer, and since he had become a commissioner… The description of it was enough to send a wave of unease down his spine. There had been even crimes between bands far more gruesome, but those cases had been about adult victims. He had read it more times than he could recall in the past days, trying to find _anything_ he could use to track the perpetrator. _Or_ perpetrators. It was possible that the ones who kidnapped the children weren't the same who had killed that bastard boy. Randall rubbed the bridge of his nose where his thin glasses applied more pressure. And there were the hound bodies they had found outside places related with the Watchdog. Was it a direct threat against _him_? Against _them_? A new piece was in the board, one they hadn't counted with; and they had went directly for a checkmate? His head started to feel heavy. The last thing they needed was someone trying to take them down, but they had to work with what they had… So far, they had been keeping the media at bay, because Her Majesty didn't want to make it public until they had gathered more clues; Mister Pitt had proven to be more than excellent in his job spreading false bits for other journalists to follow. A path of breadcrumbs with scandals here, bastards there, a flash new about a ball. Things like that, the kind of content that the general public enjoyed. He had his men doing the best they could, if he had to turn the slums upside down he would do so, he thought clenching his teeth. A quick, urgent rapping at his door brought him back, and the man got up from his chair with haste.

"Come in."

Frederick opened the panel and stepped inside in a rush with his brown coat flowing behind. He splattered mud and water all around the office floor, and Randall was about to scold him for that, until he saw his expression. His eyes were wide open, the young inspector was trying to calm his breath enough to talk, his hair was all out of place.

"Abberline, what is it? Have a seat."

"No, sir. Thanks. We found a body when searching another part of the maintenance tunnels around the Thames."

Lord Randall stared back at him in silence, the only sound that filled the office was the pace of his desk clock. From the open door, the general ruckus from the lower floors of the building reached his ears. He blinked with perplexity.

"Another child?" he managed to sputter with a puzzled look on his face. The binder rested on top of the documents, and he lowered his gaze to examine its surface. Which one would it be that time? The scarred girl? The blonde one? Or maybe one of the younger boys? Frederick placed his hands on the polished bureau, slamming it before he started to shuffle the papers scattered around.

"No. A man. We filled a missing report about him weeks ago, but when the child case got worse we just gave it more priority."

The binder about the missing children knocked an ink bottle, and in the middle of his confusion, Randall was able to give thanks for it being empty. The young man was making a whole mess of his impeccable desk. Frederick held a paper in front of his face and he took some distance to focus his gaze on it.

"This one, the Russian. He was beheaded in the spot we found him, I'm afraid."

The older man closed his mouth with a deep crease above his nose bridge. Speechless, he let his gaze wander over the portrait of Lady Svetlana's personal butler, before he forced himself to look up from it. The noble woman had vanished days ago and that new took him by surprise.

"Where, where did you find him?"

"Away from the ports and the factories, near the outskirts, sir."

"You say he was killed when you found him."

"It was dark, but judging by the amount of blood…"

"... Write a report and gather more men, check the whole place. And," Randall made a pause when he picked a quill and a blank piece of paper. "Go there and take everything you can."

"What is it?"

"It is the house where they were staying. We'll consider it a crime scene from now even if we have no other clues. I have some things to fetch first but I will go there as soon as possible. This is the last thing we needed, Frederick…"

The officer frowned his soft brows and followed his superior with his clear eyes as the man circled the desk with hurry.

"How bad is it, sir? Where are you going?"

He looked down at the paper when Randall smacked it inside his palm. The man adjusted his thin framed glasses.

"I have people to inform of this. Luck doesn't seem to be on our side, inspector. Wish us some."

* * *

The commissioner yanked his coat from the rack next to the door of his office and put it on without care. Frederick had just read the address when Randall disappeared almost running down the hallway. Without _any_ reinforcements. The inspector ran to the threshold and caught a blur of slate grey heading downstairs. He had to be fast. Wakefield could check the house, whatever Lord Randall had in his mind, it had to be very important because it was the first time he saw him reacting that way. Probably it was related with the Watchdog. Yes, it made sense. That man, lord Vincent, had helped them countless times whenever they got stuck, but at what _price_ … Abberline almost tripped with his wet shoes when he rushed towards his companion's office. Wakefield would be busy with paperwork. He rapped the door with haste.

"Open, it's me, Abberline! We have an emergency."

"Come, come."

The office was upside down. Knowing him, that was weird. Folders and binders were scattered all over the red wine carpet with no apparent order, and Frederick took a long stride to pass over a pile of documents.

"What the hell happened here? You made a mess."

"I thought that we could do an inner research about more missing children, and I was right. I mean, in this city, a lot of people simply vanishes. Yes, but–"

He made a pause, closed a binder and opened the next one. The inspector was sitting at his desk, biting the end of his quill as he eyed the papers. He didn't look up when Frederick reached the bureau.

"–Eleven years ago. Do you know what case I'm referring to?"

"No."

"I found a file about another case of missing children, and wanted to give it a try. Five children went missing. One, from a merchant's family. A bastard, nothing remarkable. Until they found only two of the bodies. Stabbed, too."

Wakefield took a deep, slow inhalation and turned the page he was inspecting. In front of him, Frederick changed his weight from one foot to another; Lord Randall probably hadn't found a carriage yet, at that time there used to be some traffic around the headquarters. The clock on top of the desk kept ticking.

"According to this report, which by the way, I don't know who filled it, but was pretty inconsistent with the details, at least one of them had a stab wound in her chest and a burn."

"Are you suggesting that both cases are related? With a case that has been abandoned for eleven years?"

"Exactly, Frederick. We should tell Lord Randall, see if he knows anything. Just to let him know. I wish you were this sharp when we are outside sniffing around," he remarked with a half smile. "But, what did you come to tell me?"

"I need you to go to this location. Remember the Russian Lady? We found her butler dead. That's her place."

"And why do I have to go? Can't you see I'm busy here?"

The man gestured in a wide arc with the hand he used to hold the quill.

"Lord Randall just stormed out and if I lose any second more, I'll lost him."

"You owe me too many, Abberline."

"I know. Will you check the place? We have to classify anything we find there as evidence."

"Count on that. Classifying things is my speciality."

Frederick huffed at that comment, left the paper on top of the old report, and hurried to the stairs.

* * *

"Look at that!"

He obeyed, peeking from behind Rachel's long coat, and found what his brother was pointing. A carved horse made of fine wood, hand painted, rested in a stool amidst a wide variety of toys. From porcelain dolls to stuffed animals and seasonal decorations, what had caught his attention was the black horse. He let go of his mother's hand with a little hesitation, and went to Ciel's side.

"The horse?"

"All of them, look, they even have puppets."

Ciel pointed at a couple of wooden toys that hung from the ceiling. His finger left a little mark on the glass due to the difference of temperature. It wasn't as cold as their mother had predicted, but the heavy coats and scarves were welcomed.

"Do you want to know how to make these?"

The child parted his lips and stammered before he formed a coherent sound. They barely talked about the fact that he wanted to be a toy maker. Nor about the fact that Ciel would be an Earl whether he liked it or not. He felt how his cheeks became hotter and fixed his eyes on a doll house composed of three bodies. From the windows of the closed half he could see tiny furniture.

"Y-Yes."

"I'm sure you will even make better ones," he noted with a cheeky expression on his face. "Then I will hire you and we will sell the nicest ones in England!"

He moved away from the decorated showcase dragging his brother behind towards the next store. Rachel and Vincent followed them some feet behind, chatting between them and eyeing the crowded street.

"I will have my own company, you'll see."

Ciel threw his head back with a happy chortle.

"Oh, oh. Listen. I could fund it, give you all the money you needed" he bragged with enthusiasm, waving his arms around.

"What about the earnings?" he replied with a serious look. "I mean, I guess I could… Tr-Try to do it by myself…"

The older boy stopped his tracks and drew a hand to his chin. He examined the delicate clothes that were placed in some figurines behind another showcase. Past them, he could see a red headed woman talking with a young blonde boy. They seemed to be examining a fabric.

"Should we split them fair, right?"

He tugged his sleeve from the elbow and Ciel moved his eyes away from the tall woman dressed in shorts and a long blouse tucked under a corset. As far as he knew, neither his mother, auntie Angelina, aunt Frances, nor Elizabeth wore that kind of revealing clothes. Both his aunt and his cousin wore tights when fencing, but that was all. He frowned, because he felt like he had met her before, but couldn't pinpoint who she was… And less when he was in a middle of a heated conversation.

"But you should have more, you will be making them."

"Yes, and I will have a company enough to compete with yours."

Ciel's eyes shone illuminated by the lights placed around the showcase. His chest rose when he inhaled and placed his hands on his hips.

"We'll see that!"

The boys moved away from the tailor shop and kept going down the street. Vincent didn't keep an eye off them even as Rachel examined the long coats hung from mannequins in the shop.

"It's been a while since we called Nina, but if we drop by now, she will insist in trying anything on you. And I'd like to enjoy your company for once."

The Earl caressed her gloved hand, which rested on his forearm. They walked entwined like that with short steps, following the boys. Both had just halted next to a candy shop a couple of stores away and were talking heatedly. Ciel had one hand on his hip and waved his finger in front of his brother's nose. As they got closer, understanding their words became easier.

"... realize it would be a huge one? You wouldn't even rest to make that many toys!"

"I could hire people."

The man let out a suffocated laughter and drew a gloved hand to his lips. Rachel looked up at him when his frame shook, then, to the boys.

"What's going on? Don't you tell me they are arguing again today."

"No, no…," Vincent let out a short chuckle and kept walking, getting closer to them, who were still busy talking and didn't seem to realize they had reached the candy store. "Look."

The woman moved her gaze from his almond eyes to the children wrapped in both cream colored coats. If she ignored all the other sounds and conversations around them, they were close enough to catch their words.

"So you say you don't think I could make it on my own."

"Don't twist it!"

Ciel frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Rachel smiled to herself: in that moment he was a copy of Vincent. The child's expression shifted from defiance to worry when his brother tried to mutter a comeback.

"I-I can do t-things on my own, Ciel."

There was determination on his shaky voice. Ciel filled his cheeks with air.

"Of course you can, I'm not saying the opposite. Huh."

He stood there reluctant when the older boy reached to stroke his arm over the coat. He didn't move away, and passed his left hand under his nose while sniffling.

"It's so cold."

"Do you want my scarf?"

They had finally reached the boys and were waiting for them to move. Still a few feet away, Vincent eyed their exchange in silence, dazing his eyes around the bright front of the candy store. He didn't dare to interrupt them.

"It's fine, I'm not tha-"

The boy gifted him a big, triumphant smile once he had wrapped his scarf around his neck. The cloth covered half of his face and he struggled to freed his mouth. Meanwhile, his brother had buttoned up his coat until his chin and was facing the nearby showcase. When he looked past the other child and noticed their parents, his cheeks reddened. Pulling Ciel closer to him, he used his brother as a shield from their mother's stare. Rachel wouldn't laugh at them, wouldn't she? In an embarrassed tone, he coughed and got closer to the crystal. His breath left a circle of steam on its surface when he raised his voice.

"Can we have thin mints?"

* * *

Randall sat inside the carriage with his hat on top of his knees. He had choose the first one he had found; he had no time for commodities in that moment. He heard a ruckus outside the carriage and, seconds later, Abberline popped his head behind the window.

"Sir, wait. Sir, it is important!"

He turned the latch of the door and the officer took some steps back with awkwardness.

"What?"

"Wakefield was examining-"

"Get inside, Abberline, for the Lord's sake."

Once the young man had sat in front of him in the cramped vehicle, Randall closed the door and gave two knocks on the ceiling. As the carriage started trotting down the road, he waited for Frederick to speak.

"Well, sir. Thanks. I, what I… Ugh," he mumbled as he passed a hand over his face. "Wakefield was examining the archive, putting some order in it, and has found an old case about missing children. Apparently, two were murdered that time but the officers didn't find the murderer. Do you know anything, sir?"

Randall tousled his sideburn and looked through the window with a distant air.

"I didn't work on it, have you read the report?"

"Two children were found dead. The girl didn't have any marks, not that Wakefield told me… However, he protested about the lack of information in said report, calling it sloppy. Can both cases be connected, sir?"

"Eleven years ago… I was starting to work with the current Watchdog. I didn't even think of it, to be honest, because all traces became cold as suddenly as they had appeared." Randall moved on his seat and scratched his knee. The suit was warm, but the fabric was a bit stiff. He kept talking in a monotone voice. "That time there was almost no spawn between the reports of the disappearances and when the bodies were found."

"Who took care of the body? Was it mister Undertaker?"

"No. Maybe he got his hands on some information, but I don't recall recurring to his aid. Apart of his occasional presence in the meetings, at least. Other man took care of that, I think he's name was Oth-"

The carriage took a sharp turn and he halted his monologue. Frederick stared at him with intensity.

"First things first, Abberline. I thank you for letting me know about that. But now, I'll give priority to the murder we are investigating. That Russian butler."

With that, he ended the conversation. He needed to think. He needed to meet with Vincent, and call Diederich, too. They were trying to hold too many sticks at once. The best outcome was that they would have to let go some. The worse was that they ended up pricking their hands. He adjusted his thin glasses and cleared his throat.

"Understood, sir." 

* * *

* Arthur O'Connor was a 17 years old boy who got into the gardens of Buckingham Palace and pointed a gun to the Queen in 1872. He was seized, disarmed, and after the trial he pleaded guilty and was sentenced to a year in prison. Allegedly, he tried to get her to sign a Fenian document. The Fenian Movement was a group who wanted the independence of Ireland from the British. 

** The Swinton Druid Temple is a folly built in the 1820s in North Yorkshire, by William Danby (1752–1833), writer and eccentric owner of the Swinton Estate. The alignment of the stones was inspired by Stonehenge, and it ended up being a solution to the local unemployment issue. Once it was finished, Danby challenged anyone to spend seven years living as a hermit there, but no one accepted it. 

*** John Dee (1527–1608) was an English mathematician, astronomer, occult philosopher, Hermeticist, and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. Among many of his works, _De Heptarchia mystica_ (On the Mystical Rule of the Seven Planets) was a guidebook for summoning angels.


End file.
